


constants and variables.

by romulus_adhara



Category: NCT (Band), 방탄소년단 | Bangtan Boys | BTS
Genre: Alternate Universe - Criminals, Alternate Universe - Gang World, Alternate Universe - Greek Mythology, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Curses, Greek Mythology - Freeform, Hurt/Comfort, Illegal Activities, Kim Taehyung | V & Park Jimin Are Best Friends, M/M, Magic, Mild Sexual Content, Min Yoongi | Suga Is Whipped, Multi, Park Jimin Is Bad at Feelings, Swearing, a lot of characters. like. a Lot., but not really, characterisation is in the notes, college students fall in love with criminals, everyone are greek gods, freakishly long chapters, guns and knives, namjin - Freeform, taekook, taeten - Freeform, the most unsmut smut you've ever seen, yoonmin, yoonmin is endgame
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-29
Updated: 2019-03-20
Packaged: 2019-04-14 15:20:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 265,632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14138838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/romulus_adhara/pseuds/romulus_adhara
Summary: It makes sense, he thinks.Yoongi never needed anyone to keep him stable, because he was always, unwaveringly, on the edge. That edge was sharp and dangerous, only a dark endless pit next to it, and Taeyong never stopped fearing that one day Yoongi will topple over, stumble and fall, his mind going forever into the darkness.He never really needed anyone to get him away from the pit — he just needed someone to walk by his side.And then Jimin appeared.





	1. PART I. ARES. I. mount etna

**Author's Note:**

> Namjoon as Zeus  
> Seokjin as Mnemosyne  
> Hoseok as Poseidon  
> Yoongi as Ares  
> Jimin as Aphrodite  
> Taehyung as Persephone  
> Jungkook as Hades  
> the rest are gonna be mentioned as I go.  
>   
> [moodboards that started it all and can help with visualization.](https://twitter.com/romulusadhara/status/1009149925123350528)  
> beta'd by a lovely [Likeyouhungthemoon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Likeyouhungthemoon/profile)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [chapter moodboard](https://twitter.com/romulusadhara/status/979467152544747520)

_when I was a man I thought it ended_

_when I knew love's perfect ache_

_but my peace has always depended_

_on all the ashes in my wake_

↹

He was always told that the Underworld is dangerous. It's dark, alluring, whispering to you when you turn around, and calling, calling. If you are a living creature, there is no path you can walk to get there. And if you wander inside, you can never return, for you will forever belong with the dead.

They said all kinds of things about it. The inhabitants of Olympus were always a chatty folk, but they became frantic and desperate to tell you everything they thought they knew when the subject of Underworld was brought up. It was almost comedic to a point. They rushed in to recount you the latest rumor and wait for your eyes to light up with the same obsessive ferociousness.

_If you listen hard enough in the dead of night, you can hear the screams._

_It is better to be killed with Zeus’ lightning than be caught by Cerberus, for he is merciless and mad._

_The gods down there feast on flesh and drink young children’s blood._

_If you get close enough to the gates, you can hear His insane laugh._

Mother never talked to him about Hades. He wasn’t sure if it was a precaution or because there was nothing to tell that wasn't already known. They were brought up together, and Persephone remembers stories about fierce battles where they fought side by side, but no, she never mentioned him first. It was like his name seemed to her as annoying as the foolish people who prayed to her only when they were at their lowest. She never showed them any mercy. Hades was for her as an unpleasant misfortune of destiny - you’re not fond of it, but still, it exists, so the better choice is to make your peace with it.

Persephone recalls being a little boy, free and reckless, running to the bank shore of Styx, and trying to see the giant three-headed dog guarding the Entrance, or maybe even to get a glimpse of the King himself, but it seemed he wasn't really fond of coming up to the Pantheon. Persy thinks he saw the cloth of his robe float into the entrance of the cave once, but even if it was Hades himself, Persephone doubts he had any interest in little gods running around.

Time had passed, they all grew up, and he stopped coming, or even wondering. And it’s not like he completely forgot about his childlike fascination with the Underworld. There just never seemed to be a lot of free time, with all the responsibilities to bear and blessings to grant. Of course, he was always the busiest when the spring came, but the rest of the year passed in a flurry of tiny chores. People tended to call upon Persephone at the oddest times, and he could never refuse them a blessing of a tulip in the middle of the winter, or a refreshing spring rain when the July sun became too much of a burden.

He only ever properly saw Hades once - at the big Pantheon meeting. There was some trouble in Thrace, and Zeus wanted everyone to counsel together. Persephone himself wasn't attending, because, as mother put it, he was way too young for such matters. He agreed with her at first, but as soon as Demeter left, Aphrodite knocked on his door with his usual beatific smile that promised adventure or trouble. All it took was a glance, and they were running across fields towards the Throne Hall, and sneaking in to listen to the elders talking.

Hades was sitting on Zeus' left sight, looking bored to the point he almost yawned. He made it absolutely clear that he found everything around him dull and unworthy of his time. The topic of their meeting seemed to concern him no more than bugs under his feet. It was all a pretend to rile Zeus up, of course, for he kept glancing at his brother now and again, making sure that he was watching. For some inexplicable reason it seemed funny to Persephone, and he couldn’t hold back, gave in to the desire to giggle, almost giving away their position.

Almost all the gods were arguing about something, as they always did, so the sound got drowned by their loud voices, but Hades heard him somehow, and Persephone looked in fascinated horror how he turned to look right at them. Aphrodite ducked behind a column, gasping, but Persephone seemed glued to his place. He couldn’t look away, for he was mesmerized by the way Hades’ expression changed and transformed from bored to curious. He was looking at him with such intensity that it made his fair cheeks burn. Hades was beautiful, of course, he was, for he was a celestial being, but there was particular darkness to his beauty, haunting and plaguing. And there was something in his eyes, something so calm, like the night waters of the oceans Poseidon ruled over, something hypnotic but sad, that made Persephone wonder whether that man truly laughed when looking upon tortured souls.

The hassle around him didn't seem to affect the god, like he was a mere spectator, but not a member of the discussion, and maybe it truly was so - he never seemed to partake in anything if it didn't affect him or his realm, he refused to take sides in the never-ending rivalries, and he rarely seemed to start anything. He was powerful, of course, and it was as easy for him to wipe out an army as it was to breathe, but it seemed he was content where he was, and it showed in his posture and on his face.

Persephone remembers him smiling. That smile stayed in his mind for a long time after that, refusing to leave his dreams, but at that moment it scared him, and he closed his eyes and put his warm face against the cold stone of the column. It was hard to breathe. He focused on the feeling of the rough stone under his fingertips and tried to calm down his crazing heart. When he finally found the courage to look up, Hades wasn't looking his way anymore. More so, his face was cold and detached, and he seemed to lose interest in his surroundings once again.

The fight between the gods was starting to get more and more intense, so Aphrodite and he took off before Zeus started throwing bolts of lightning around. Aphrodite was chattering away about how foolish they all looked bickering like little children, and how stupid it was for them to invite Ares, the one most likely to start spilling blood if the discussion turned more heated.

Persephone was only half-listening to him. He kept seeing the cold face and red eyes, and that wretched beautiful smile, and for some reason, he was filled with dread.

I

The sun is rising slowly, almost lazily peeking out from the horizon, and Yoongi thinks it looks like a person waking up in the morning, reluctant to leave the warm embrace of the bed but unable to deny his responsibilities any longer.

They have a Helios in their gang, and he is nothing like the picture he’s looking at, or nothing like a pleasant warm feeling on his skin. Their Helios is a sneaky asshole that keeps snooping around, staring at everyone and everything with his watery eyes, always so attentive and so quiet. Always listening. If he weren’t absolutely loyal to Jungkook, Yoongi would have taken him out a long time ago. He’s still ready to do that at any given point. He even knows how we would do it, and has a special brand of poison stowed away just for him. For some reason, Yoongi never liked the guy.

He takes a drag, feeling smoke burn his sore throat. He screamed a lot last night. He doesn’t particularly remember whether it was from pain or pleasure of ripping into someone’s skull, but he can feel the damage it did. Funny. It seems like his body should have somehow become immune to this crap, but no, he still feels it all. His fingers are scraped like they always are, there’s some dried blood under his fingernails, and he tries to recall whether his skin ever was clear of wounds and bruises. Maybe, it will be someday. He doubts that.

He feels... _something_. It’s not a new thing, to feel. No matter how much he’d like to be a fully-fledged sociopath, he still feels shit, that emotional movie crap Taeyong keeps trying to educate him about. So yeah, he’s not mad, and his bloodlust is probably just a peculiar form of a hobby rather than a personality trait. But the sensation that resides in his bones is a new one. It is something akin to anticipation, and Min Yoongi had never anticipated a thing in his life. It tended to turn out disappointing and crashing, so he learned a long time ago never to expect good things, and always be prepared for the worst.

‘Something’s coming.’

It’s Kook, sitting on his left side and looking at the same thing Yoongi is - the slowly rising sun. It is supposed to hurt their eyes, burn their retinas or some shit like that, but it doesn’t. For some reason, it’s not surprising.

Yoongi takes another drag, nodding. Jungkook feels it too, then.

‘I know.’ He puts his cigarette out on the stone and flicks the butt over the railing. ‘I’ve known for a while.’

The thing is, he hadn’t. Technically, he’s not lying, but he can’t even begin explaining what he really means. It would be untruthful to say that he only recently started expecting something to happen.

Since he can remember, he’s been waiting for _something_. It always seems just out of reach, escaping him time after time, and it used to drive him mad.

He kept hearing things. Strange, unreal things like distant laughter and the sounds of glass breaking. A faint smell of roses and grapes never seemed to disappear. He was chasing it, running in a frenzy, but it always inadvertently turned to dust as soon as he was about to wrap his fingers around it.

He tried to drown it in the sounds of breaking bones and dripping blood. And it used to work, a long time ago, when he was but a kid, fresh out the back door of an orphanage. Back then everything new seemed to chase away the real-life nightmares, silence it for some time. But it’s been years since then, he went through hell and back, and back again to its earthly substitute, and it doesn’t work anymore. He sometimes wonders whether his methods are weakening, or the thing that is causing this shit is getting stronger. Lately, it seems louder, the sounds are waking him up, and the smell can’t even be covered with the metallic taste of the blood, and for the first time in his life he senses... he allows himself to believe that he is finally, this time for real, getting closer.

‘Do you ever feel like you’re here for the sole purpose of waiting for something?’ He turns to Kook, frowning. He never really shared this shit with him, but he doesn’t need to. They are always on the same wavelength, and he always trusts the Hades to get his meaning. The band-aid on his wrist is getting loose. He plays with it with his fingers absentmindedly.

‘For death, maybe.’ Jungkook shrugs with one shoulder. The thing with him is that he always seems to stop talking after every word. His sentences are final, but you are a foolish man if you start talking before he allows. Just like now - it would seem to someone that he’s not going to say anything else, but Yoongi knows better. He always did. ‘But yeah. It’s like I have a role to play. We all do. But... there are some things that aren’t in the script. And we are supposed to let them unravel.’

He looks up, focusing on Yoongi’s eyes, and that’s as good permission to talk as he’s gonna get.

‘I can feel it, Kook. The script is ending, and the second, unscheduled, part begins.’

Jungkook’s face doesn’t change a bit, and Yoongi sees the sun rays reach his face but not go further, getting tangled in his eyelashes and leaving the rest of his face in the dark mask of the dawn. He blinks.

‘Are you ready?’

Yoongi looks at the sun again. It’s almost fully up now. The new day is starting, and they have a ton of shit to do. The smell of grapes is strong above the stench of residual smoke, and Yoongi clings to it, savoring. Something tells him there’s a real thing coming, not just a trace that disappears after a while, but a permanent fixture of his life. He can’t wait. He’s afraid to find out.

‘Are we ever?’

I

It's a simple meetup, talk-and-shake-hands, but Yoongi still feels uneasy.

They rarely do business near the University, no matter how many clients they have on the inside, always looking for some weed to smoke or some trouble to come knocking at their doors. Students are an amazingly adventurous lot. Stupid, but fun.

And yet they always deal with them on the Underworld’s territory, but apparently this time it's important enough for them all to be near the civilian grounds. Kook’s told him it’s a precaution because their soon to be business partners wouldn’t dare to pull something in the middle of the crowded area, but it doesn’t help Yoongi with the sensation of anxiety. Something is off about this whole day, and the restless feeling has him constantly checking his gun under his jacket. There's a lot of people, there always are, and they can get away quickly if the things go south, and Kook is right, nothing will go wrong here, and yet... And yet.

Jungkook looks relaxed and unbothered. To most people he always does, but Yoongi knows him well enough to recognize his moods. Right now, it’s like he’s at home on a couch with a cup of coffee, and not surrounded by assassins, half of whom would gladly slit his throat at the first chance. Kook’s closest crew is loyal to the point, but the majority of their forces are only here because they’re afraid to be on the other side of the fight if one comes.

They’re waiting.

Yoongi checks his watch. Still not moving.

He doesn’t remember when he got it, and why he wears it still, but in all the time it spent on his wrist, the hands never moved. They’re stuck at 5:13, never stirring, never ticking. He had it checked and repaired a number of times, but never in his life did he see it work. He still glances at it from time to time, sometimes the picture of a triangle on them being the only thing that can bring him inner peace. There are a lot of strange things in his life, and this is just one of them.

At some point, their new colleagues arrive, and Yoongi tunes out their talk. He’s not interested in business and planning. He’s here to make sure everyone’s limbs are still attached when they’re done. He looks around, not really focusing on people’s faces. Humans are usually either boring or irritating, and he’s not one to give a single fuck about them. It’s their luck, really - rational beings rarely want to piss off the Ares, and that is an extremely easy thing to do.

It’s a colorful crowd around them, but the only thing he’s looking out for is a potential threat. There are some curious glances their way, and he’s not surprised, for it’s not often you can see the Underworlders out of their headquarters. Maybe half of them don’t even realize who they’re walking past, but he knows they can feel they’re bad news. People generally get the vibe coming off them and stay away.

He, personally, always had the aura of ‘fuck off’ around him. It’s not like it’s intentional - he certainly never wanted his own parents to hate him enough to leave him in the orphanage. It just... happened. Naturally, like breathing, he wasn’t friend material. He was able to care for people, and if he loved someone to the point he considered them family, he would give his last breath to protect them. But people rarely stuck around, so they couldn’t see the part of him that was ready to charge into battle the second his family was threatened.

He had a couple of friends when he was a kid, but so happened historically that they went on to be the exemplary people, and he became the bad company parents always warned their kids about. Eventually, they politely left, preferring to see how their lives will turn out far away from him. He didn’t blame them, to be honest. If it weren’t for the way his insides felt every time he punched something, he’d try to make right too. But he couldn’t leave the life that he chose. He loved it, for the fight and hardship was in his blood. Maybe, if at some point there was a tiny part of him that wanted to break away, it had burned out a long time ago.

He remembers the day he met Jungkook in excruciating detail. Hoseok was pissed and bitchy, because his little brother, apparently, got into ‘the family business’, and not only that, he started his own gang. Nobody could blame Yoongi for getting curious about the kid that went against Namjoon himself. He went to the dingy old place the Underworld was back then and met the boy who would go on to become the Hades of this city. He stayed with him that day after a short conversation and hadn’t thought of leaving once.

Seven years and a lot of fights later, and they’re here - behind the local University, talking out some new arrangement that is supposed to make the other parties feel valued, but actually benefits only to the Hades and his people, and his clock is at 5:14.

Yoongi’s gaze backtracks, his insides frozen in shock. He rechecks it, focusing on the second hand, blinks and looks closely, but no, he’s not hallucinating - his clock is going again. He stares at it, trying to wrap his head around it. He had it checked times after times by the most excellent masters he could find, and they all said that it just doesn’t work. There is nothing wrong with the mechanism, it is overall flawless, except for the whole ‘not moving’ part. And it seems they are now all proven wrong.

He doesn’t have time, oh the irony, to be properly abashed, though - there’s a sudden scuffle coming from the leaders, and Yoongi’s instincts kick in. He grabs his gun, unholstering it and taking the safety off. Seconds later he’s by Jungkook’s side.

‘It’s okay, Ares,’ his calming voice is almost bored, but again, Yoongi knows his leader, and he can sense that Kook is tense. He can’t understand why, though - it all seems calm. ‘I just saw something.’

Yoongi looks away from the slightly scared men in front of them (who wouldn’t be scared when you’re telling something to the Hades, and he suddenly turns away), and glances the way Jungkook’s staring so intently. It almost seems like he wants to run towards whatever he’s looking at.

It’s a boy. He’s standing a few meters away, looking curiously at them. His hair is glinting silver in the afternoon light, and he is gripping the strap of his messenger bag to the point his knuckles whiten. He looks about twenty, but his innocent face makes Yoongi wonder whether he’s really a local. People rarely make it to their adolescence and stay innocent in this city. The boy is not alone, but his companion stands with his back to them, trying to tell something to his friend. Yoongi doesn’t know either of them, but there’s something familiar about the one with his back turned. His blonde hair looks like a halo, and Yoongi almost snickers at his own dramatism. Maybe, he saw him around the Street? He frowns but doesn’t dwell on it. The boy with silver hair keeps staring at Jungkook.

‘I reckon our dealings are pretty much over here, don’t you think?’ Jungkook gestures for them all to leave. It shows how much these people respect and fear him when they obey immediately.

Two boys meanwhile leave, and Yoongi expects Kook to be disappointed, but he’s smiling a little, like a giddy child. It seems weird, and it’s freaking Yoongi out.

‘You’re okay, boss?’ He takes a step towards Jungkook, but the man shakes his head.

‘Perfect, Yoongi, thank you,’ he inhales deeply and looks right at Yoongi, his smile even more evident. ‘It smells like spring, don’t you think?’

Yoongi frowns, thinking that no, it smells like a dumpster, because this city always does, but he knows better than to try and investigate what’s got Kook in this mood. Perhaps, he liked the boy. Yoongi wouldn’t be surprised. Hades loves pretty things.

‘You go on home. You have some business to attend to, I believe.’

He actually does - there’s some talk about one of their offshoot crews trying to go over their heads with one of the latest drug deals. He needs to pay them a visit and remind them who’s the boss around here.

Ten appears by his side, ready to leave. Yoongi thinks absentmindedly that he needs to have a talk with the kid, and soon, for if he’s not careful, he’ll let the job get to him. He seems nice, even too nice for his crew, but Yoongi sees potential in his movements and the fire in his eyes. He wants to make sure Ten understands what he’s getting into, and isn’t just trying to prove to someone that he’s tough. Yoongi only wants the best and brightest on his crew, and he doesn’t want people to get hurt just because they misunderstood the dynamic. Besides, Taeyong would probably cut off his dick with a surgeon knife if he let something happen to the kid, so that’s a motivation not to get him killed.

He looks away from his protégé and back at Jungkook, who seems to have already forgotten they’re here. He’s looking in the direction two boys had disappeared too. Yoongi sighs.

‘Call me if you need me.’

He already turns to leave, signaling the nearby people to follow him. They round up and go for their cars, with the exception of his crew, who just gather around him. The location they need to get to is nearby, so they’re going on foot. He almost misses Kook’s response, but when he hears it, his frown deepens.

‘I don’t think I will need Ares tonight, my friend.’

I

His knuckles are scraped, again - when are they not - and he has the motherfucking bitch of a headache starting behind his eyelids.

As it turned out, the rumors were true, and more so - they’ve arrived right in the middle of the deal between those who were supposed to be loyal to the Hades’ and Namjoon’s people, but instead decided to fuck all of them.

Now, technically, they are a family. A big, happy, thanksgiving-poster-picture friendly family that rules two neighbor cities kindly and with lots of guns. But there are certain unspoken rules - you don’t deal with your technical cousins behind the daddies’ backs. The territory was divided a long time ago, by the mutual agreement and on equal terms, and it was probably the only time in their lives that Jungkook and Namjoon smiled sincerely at each other. Hoseok was there to mediate the meeting, and Yoongi provided some form of moral support that all of them needed. Somehow in the middle of that surreal time, he managed to become friends with each brother, and the day he arrived to be there for all of them was also the day he met Kim Seokjin.

(Nobody really knows what he does, but it’s a known fact that where Joon goes, Seokjin follows. He always talks in weird sentences and keeps looking at everyone like they forgot to buy his favorite cookies, and he is extremely disappointed. Their first interaction was weird, but so was the majority of Yoongi’s life, so he didn’t pay it much heed until much later. They made their acquaintance, and the thing Jin said, ‘You seem more human, but that’s not really a surprise. Got any nightmares?’ was as close to ordinary as the fact that he had an ancient looking ring on his finger. Yoongi didn’t answer him, for Kook called for him, but to this day he doesn’t know what he would say if he had the time. Apparently, these are just the things Seokjin says to people.)

And yes, they have established something then. You don’t deal on your brother’s territory. You don’t go behind his back. Your people don’t talk about business with the other's without explicit permission from both of you. They could be friends, lovers, whoever, they could run a joint dog breeding business for all their leaders cared, but that was outside the Job. The moment they try to do something connected to the dealings of the gang or screw their superiors over - well, that’s when Yoongi comes in. Namjoon has his own little executor, but only Jungkook has an Ares. And when he’s needed, he comes and unleashes his wrath, or something equally as dramatic. The rules are simple, and if you want to meet an ancient greek asshole, well, you break them.

And today, someone did. Apparently, some idiot of theirs decided to fall for a Joon’s guy, and normally they couldn’t be bothered to give the slightest fuck, but the lover boys envisioned themselves as some fucking Romeo and Less Hot Romeo and decided to start their own business by selling out their fathers.

Yoongi really doesn’t get it - they are actually pretty generous to their people, considering. Kook is merciless and cruel, and straight up psychotic, when it comes to his enemies, yes, but he always takes good care of his family.

Now, though, it’s all done and over with. The poor couple is feeding the fish, and the idiots who wanted to help them are thinking about where their loyalties lie in the basement.

And as the result of an extensive teaching session, his knuckles are scraped and bloody, and his head hurts. He’s ready to take a shower and fall into bed, but there’s one last thing to do.

He has to listen to four annoying beeps before the phone is picked up. It’s the first hint that something’s not right because Namjoon always answers right away.

His suspicion is confirmed when instead of a deep and short usual ‘Yes’ there’s a melodic drawl wondering who’s calling.

‘I know Namjoon has my number saved, so quit it, Seokjin.’ He rubs his eyes and sighs. ‘Where is he?’

‘He’s occupied,’ his voice sounds bored. ‘One of his lieutenants apparently got into some trouble, and they can’t find him.’

‘Yeah, that’s why I’m calling. Don’t bother with that, the asshole’s in the river.’

It’s a show of how much he trusts Jin to be loyal to Joon that he tells him that. He is sure the information will be carried over with the utmost precision, no matter how much it seems that Jin isn’t even listening. He doesn’t know a lot about Kim Seokjin, but he knows the way he looks at Namjoon is something more than professional loyalty.

‘What’d he do?’

Yoongi briefly recounts the whole story, leaving out the juicy and bloody parts - Taeyong once informed him that literally no one wants to hear them but Yoongi. He is desperate to end the call and rest already, so he tries to add the notes of finality to his last words.

‘Idiots, truly,’ Seokjin comments when Yoongi’s done, and he hears him move the phone to his other ear. ‘You’d think the rules are already flexible enough.’

‘Reading my mind, Jin.’

He’d think that’s it - his job is done, everyone is informed, he can leave. But something tells him Seokjin isn’t so kin on hanging up.

‘Tell me, Yoongi,’ he says his name as he always does - with some breathless laugh, like an inside joke, and as if something as simple as Yoongi’s name is amusing to him, ‘how are those dreams?’

Now, here’s the thing. Yoongi never told him about the nightmares. Yes, it figures that a man like him, granted that he’s not a complete sociopath, would have bad dreams. But Seokjin, nevertheless, knows about them, ever since that first time he asked about them, and more so - he always seems to guess specifically what he dreams of the most, and Yoongi has no idea how he does that. He had never told him about them, and he always ignores the questions. And yet Seokjin keeps asking.

‘I really don’t know what you’re talking about, Seokjin.’

‘Aish, what a shame. Well, farewell then, dear Ares. I’ll see you on the other side.’

He hangs up before Yoongi can reply.

Yoongi drops his phone on the bed, rubbing his temples. Talking to that cryptic asshole always annoys him. Like his life isn’t straight out of the Kubrick’s movie already.

He takes off his clothes, stopping briefly when he gets to the watch. It’s moving steadily, showing the wrong time, but working nevertheless. He probably needs to set it to the right time, but something stops him. The ticking sound somehow eases his headache, and he hesitates another second before taking it off and going into the shower. He knows he should wonder about this, try to figure out why it suddenly started going again, and today of all days, but he is way too tired. He decides to pull a Scarlett O'Hara and think about it tomorrow.

He wonders what Kook is up to, but he knows the boss can take care of himself. He feels calm for the first time in forever, and the restless feeling that’s been haunting him is almost gone. Hot water hits his chest, wiping away someone else’s blood and some of his fatigue.

Somehow, he really doesn’t get why, and he can’t pinpoint where it originates or where it ends, but it feels like a new beginning. It is a regular day, certainly not the strangest one he had, and yet.

The sun is slowly setting outside his window.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> come yell at me on [twitter ](https://twitter.com/romulusadhara)  
> [come yell at me as anon](https://curiouscat.me/romulusadhara)


	2. II. epithalamium.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> nothing seems to move, but everything changes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [chapter moodboard](https://twitter.com/romulusadhara/status/981985064916520960)

_I've been walking in the moonlight looking for you_

_I got nobody but my shadow to get me through_

_so put your lips on my scars and teach me to love_

_give my slow heart the rhythm of a blood drum_

↹

He can’t deny it’s beautiful. The space has no end, extending all through the Zeus’ own garden. Everywhere he can see is a glittering marquee, and it’s all covered in gold and silver, making the walls and the ceiling glow in the light of the setting sun. Helios will join them shortly after he finishes his rounds, and with the arrival of the god of the sun, the room will shine even more so. Deities inside the tent are even prettier than decorations, for practically everyone is here. The wedding of the Aphrodite, no matter to whom, was always meant to be the matter of everyone’s talk. They all gossiped about it so much he was reluctant to attend Pantheon meetings sometimes.

He understands them in some way, although he never chose to be the way nature created him. Of course, they talked. A god so beautiful, so kind and precious, that Zeus himself feared he would bring war among gods. Aphrodite caught his thoughtful gaze on himself more than once, and he was scared of what the god among gods would decide. The decision was taken from his hand by the tricks of the man who’s now sitting beside him on his own wedding throne.

_Give me Aphrodite, or Hera will forever stay trapped._

And here he is, clutching his robes and praying to all gods Zeus will pay for what he makes him do. He’s here, too - Aphrodite can see him talking to Hera and Mnemosyne. He wonders whether any of them are aware of each other’s affairs. Aphrodite can see everything, for he is a god of love, and ah, there is so many velvet strings attached to Zeus and Hera, extending to creatures in this room and beyond. It is almost funny, how hypocritical they are. Mnemosyne, though, has only one string, and it is attached to the allpowering deity beside him. It makes Aphrodite even sadder than he was. It seems he is not the only one suffering from the dealings of Zeus and unfortunate love.

It would seem the god of love would be happily enamored himself, but no. The man he is betrothed to, appalling and mad Hephaestus, has no more access to Aphrodite’s heart than Zeus himself. The man in complete control of his soul is standing near the south wall, talking to Poseidon. He seems bored and detached. It shows on his face, how much he wishes to be far away from here, maybe on some battlefield, slaying his enemies and screaming in bloodlust. It almost makes Aphrodite mad - for his heart is breaking, and his soul is crying, but that man dares to look bored. He wants to scream and to place blame, but there is no point.

He can’t even be furious with Ares. The mere thought of hating him brings him pain and desire to fall apart. So instead he feels sad, and the only thing he wants right now is for this whole ordeal to be over. He wants to find Persephone and weep in his friend’s arms. It is too hard to look at the man he loves, but it is even harder to break his gaze away.

Aphrodite recalls the day he first saw him. The first god to greet him after he came out of the sea foam so long ago was Zeus, but he didn’t register the man until much later. No, the first face he truly remembered was Ares’. Zeus brought him to the Olympus, showing him around the Throne Hall and trying to calm down the scared boy. Aphrodite was looking out the window, hugging the robe he was given tighter around his shoulders, and trying to make sense of all the thoughts and peculiar sensations he had inside when he came in. His skin was grey from ashes and red from blood; his sword dripping wet on the marble floor, and his low laughter echoing through the Palace. He just returned from war, and he wanted to share with Zeus the joy of his bloody victory. He didn't notice the beautiful boy at the back, for he was engrossed in retelling the story of the battle, but Aphrodite couldn't avert his eyes. Something burst inside him, and he felt the power coursing through his body, engulfing him in delighting flames. He didn’t know what it was back then, for it seemed that his entire being consisted of _that_ , but he wanted to reach out, to touch, to hold. He stayed motionless, afraid of what it was. Later, when he found out what power he possessed, and why he came to this earth, he recognized the feeling immediately. He got caught in the same nets he would later weave, and he gave in his innocence his heart to Ares.

After that, he started looking. He always tried to fall back when there was trouble, in a desperate hope to see Ares when he would arrive to fight. He sometimes tried to ascend on the battlefields, seeking out the god of war and listening intently for his cries of rage. He even convinced Persephone to sometimes sneak into the Pantheon meeting they weren’t invited to, just to catch a glimpse of scarlet armor. Later, when he came in full possession of his power and earned his seat at the council, he would always fall back to try and talk to Ares, but he always seemed to leave first. They talked a handful of times, but it was always about something Zeus assigned them to do.

And now he stands betrothed to Hephaestus in his beautiful golden gown and feeling the earth break under his feet. Or maybe it is his heart, for he detests the man he is forced by Zeus to marry. He can’t run away, for he doesn’t have anything to run to. He can’t die, for his life yet holds too much meaning for mortals, and the world can’t be left without love. And he can’t refuse, for this is the only way he will be allowed to stay on the Olympus.

How desperately he wishes now he had a chance to talk to Ares without some pressing matter making them speed up. He would like so much just to hear his voice without some urgency in it and see his rare smile. He would’ve given everything for that smile, and now it is too late.

He shakes off all the memories of looking at Ares walking away and tries to calm his heart. He looks at him again.

There is only one string attached to Ares, and that is a bright red one, coming from Aphrodite and losing its thread in Ares’ chest. He could touch it and find out how Ares feels towards him, but the fear of what he might find there stops him. Besides, Aphrodite’s touch to someone’s string can only bring trouble, and so he keeps his hand on his lap, gripping his robe in his fingers. He can’t look away from Ares, though, and the god of war must feel it because he looks up and straight at him. He freezes but keeps his gaze steady.

_Maybe if he sees something in my eyes, maybe if he knows, maybe..._

But Ares looks away after a second, turning his attention back to Poseidon. Aphrodite feels little needles breaking his skin in thousands of different places. Being torn apart would probably hurt less. He looks at his fiancée. He wants to cry.

~

‘Aish, my friend, you destroy nations, but you cannot confess your love to someone. I can’t decide whether it’s touching or pathetic.’

There is a reason Ares gets along best with Poseidon - the god of the sea never fears to speak the truth. Even when he knows it can earn him a heated glare and a possible sword wound. Ares rubs his eyes and sighs.

‘You know it’s more than just my inability to speak about my feelings, Poseidon.’ He wants to look up, but he fears meeting Aphrodite’s eyes again, so he keeps looking at the floor. ‘He is promised to someone else by Zeus.’

Poseidon laughs breathlessly and takes a sip of his drink. Ares can see him look towards the wedding thrones and roll his eyes.

‘Like disobeying Zeus had ever been a feared thing. Besides, you had a chance to ask for him.’ He shrugs lightly, curling his lips. ’But you kept silent, and Hephaestus swooped in.’

He knows Poseidon is right, but there is so much more to this than simple hesitation. He dares to look up after all and sees that Aphrodite isn’t looking at him anymore. He is smiling at Hephaestus, and it wakes up something raw and furious inside of Ares. It’s not his happy smile. He doesn’t look like that when he is genuinely delighted, and Ares would know - he spent way too much time observing him from afar.

‘I never wanted to claim him. I want him to choose me,’ he sighs and swallows the bitter regret burning his throat. ‘Look at him. He is far from happy. He was forced to do this because he had no choice, and now he is going to try and learn to live in misery.’

Poseidon’s gaze is amused like it often is, and Ares honestly wants to shove that smirk down his throat. He probably won’t, though. This wedding is already taking its toll on Aphrodite, and he doesn’t want to upset him any further.

There’s a traitorous thought at the back of his mind that he could make the fight so ugly it would upset the wedding altogether, and Poseidon would most probably play along gladly, but he pushes it back. If Aphrodite is going through with it, he can do it too.

After all, he’s not the one who has to bed Hephaestus. This though could be amusing to someone else, but it fills Ares with even more of desperate rage. He grips the handle of his sword at the picture of someone else’s hands touching his beloved, at someone else’s lips kissing his skin, at someone else holding him in their arms. Hephaestus doesn’t deserve him, nobody does, for he is too beautiful and too precious even for gods.

In some way, he understands why Zeus did what he did. Ares himself would happily go to war to win over Aphrodite’s heart and hand, but as he said to Poseidon, he doesn’t want to take him by force. For once in his long existence, the god of war wants to have something peacefully.

‘It upsets me to see you in pain, my friend,’ Poseidon’s voice is truly sad, and Ares averts his eyes. ‘But maybe there is still a chance. Maybe if he knew how you felt-‘

‘No.’

He’s not surprised to hear the steel in his voice, for he thought about this a lot, and he promised that in no way will he reveal his feelings, especially not today.

Poseidon’s amused smile is back.

‘You sound so stern, but do you really think he won’t realize once he sees your gift? You are literally granting him with your symbol. It is as obvious as the water is powerful.’

Ares’ hand that’s not still gripping his sword goes into his pocket at these words. He prepared a gift for Aphrodite, of course, he did, for how could he come here without something delicate for the one who is the fairest of them all? Exquisite jewelry cools his hand, and he traces the necklace with his fingers. He doesn’t know whether Aphrodite will wear it, and he’s not sure whether he wants him to, but he can’t deny himself this last weakness - giving his symbol to his heart.

‘He won’t realize.’

Poseidon laughs again, but Ares ignores him. Helios has arrived, and the ceremony is starting.

◕

_‘Why were you looking?’_

_He’s not mad, that Taehyung can sense for sure, but the real emotions the infamous Hades is feeling are hard to read. Is he intrigued? Curious? Taken aback?_

_They’re alone in here, and Tae tugs the sleeves of his windbreaker farther down his palms. It slides off his shoulders. He’s not cold, but there’s an unexplainable chill in his bones._

_Jimin is long gone, off to spend another perfect evening with his perfect boyfriend. Tae could never be mad at his best friend, but that_ petit copain _of his is something else. He rubs Taehyung the wrong way, and he keeps looking at him all judgemental and annoyed. Tae knows perfectly well who and what he is, and the least that self-entitled prick could do was look him in the eye and honestly tell Tae what he thinks of him, but no. The asshole stays silent, undoubtedly spilling everything to Jimin only, and Tae can sense something icky coming from him - he will either make Jimin choose, or break his heart, and Tae can’t stand the thought of either happening. The bomb is still ticking, though, and he feels like he's about to be sentenced._

_So he’s here, standing across the most notorious criminal of this city and thinking that his hair looks soft. He tells him that. Hades laughs, and it makes him look so adorable Tae can’t believe everyone around here is afraid of him._

_'So why were you looking? Because of my hair?’_

_He doesn't particularly know, to be completely honest. They were just walking across campus, and something invisible and passing made Taehyung look up. Jimin asked him what was wrong, but that's the thing - nothing was wrong. On the contrary - it all had seemed normal, even grotesquely so. He'd felt at ease, almost content. That'd been new._

_What he'd been looking at was as normal as it could be in a city like this. He knew right away that the group of people standing near the Psychology building weren't students. They looked too old to be studying at college, and their faces were too dark to be those of civilians. Criminals. He knew all about the gang part of the city, for he often liked to irritate his father by breaking into his cabinet and looking through the files. It was the asshole’s own fault. He should’ve stopped bringing work home long ago. So yeah, Taehyung knew about them, and if he were to make an educated guess, the blonde man in a leather jacket, resting his hand on his side where his gun most probably was hidden, and looking exceptionally bored, was Ares. He's seen his 'wanted' poster often. He was featured in almost all of the cases his father has been leading for the past seven years. Ares had looked better in the flesh than he did on the grainy photos. He had looked like his thoughts were in another world, but he seemed in his pacing to never leave a certain area around a man he was probably protecting. Taehyung had looked at who he assumed was Hades. Ah._

_His hair wasn't the thing that'd caught his eye. He's still not sure what did. But he had had an aura around him, and it was as alluring as it was scary. Taehyung always loved danger, always loved being on edge and provoking, and he had bruises from his father's hands to prove it. He'd wanted to come closer, examine, touch, but Jimin kept nudging him to keep walking. Like Taehyung didn't know that his friend is a closeted adrenaline junkie himself._

_Their eyes had met, he recalls. He knew Hades saw something in him, too, for he made an almost unconscious movement to come closer. Ares had been instantly at his side, and Jimin had finally succeeded to get Taehyung away. He'd known it wasn't over, though. As soon as Jimin's form disappeared in the Bio lab where he was meeting his boyfriend, Tae had gone back outside and straight to the alleyway that was considered among students 'a shady one'. Hades was waiting._

_'Why were you looking back?'_

_His voice is so quiet he's surprised. There's a light breeze, and he rubs his hands together. Hades comes closer, reaching out for his uncovered shoulder, but never touching. He looks at Taehyung for permission._

_'You looked like something I didn't know I've been waiting for,' he says quietly, and Taehyung smiles. So that's what it was. He thinks he knows the feeling. 'It's strange.'_

_Tae tilts his head, looking at Hades' collarbones. There's a tiny part of a tattoo that disappears down his body. Taehyung's curious._

_'What isn't?' He steps closer, bringing Hades' hand all the way. His touch is tentative but familiar. Right. 'I'm Taehyung.'_

_He brings his hand up, moves back the sole of Hades' jacket and traces his gun with his fingers. He could kill him right now. Daddy would be so proud. Hades doodles something on his skin with his hand, and it makes Taehyung smile wider. It seems almost domestic._

_'I'm Hades.'_

_There's a strange shiver down his spine at the words. They're right and wrong at the same time. He looks him in the eyes and searches for something._

_'Are you, though?'_

II

Jimin hates everything about this street - the smell of ashes and blood, ingrained in the cracks of the stone; cold posters covering the walls, ruined by years of rain, wind, and smoke; the dark, ominous way it seems to look right inside your soul. If he were in a more dramatic mood, he’d think this is how the lobby of hell looks like. According to the things he knows about this place, it’s as close to it as it gets.

He hugs himself, trying to still his beating heart. It’s spring, but he’s shivering, and it’s just because he’s cold, yes, he’s not afraid. He’s a man on a mission, and that mission is to find his best friend.

There’s not a soul in the alley, but that does nothing to calm him down. He knows better than anyone that silence can be more dangerous than screams. He takes a step inside, trying to convince himself that he imagined the way the atmosphere changed as soon as he stepped off the pavement. It now seems more inviting and alluring than dangerous, and he doesn’t like it.

Jimin just now realizes that his plan ended on coming here. He really didn’t think this all through. How is he supposed to find Taehyung? He’s not sure they’re even gonna let him walk for more than five minutes.

Them. The infamous Underworld gang. People say all kinds of things about them, and although Jimin isn’t one to believe every rumor he hears, he still doesn’t like even thinking about them. They’re dangerous and dark, all clad in leather like it’s their armor, riding around on their massive bikes, behaving like the kings of the city, covering their dealings with darkness and river. Police never seem to catch them all or put them away for too long, and Jimin knows it’s not because they’re innocent. They just know how to get out of anything, and they’re afraid of nothing. Jimin saw them only once - couple months ago when they were doing some deal near the University. He didn’t come close, but Tae did, no matter how much Jimin asked him to walk away, not turn back.

That’s why they’re both now here. Jimin almost wishes he brought his boyfriend with him instead of lying about where he was going. He never lies to him, and he doesn’t like the feeling it leaves him with.

He’s too caught up in his thoughts to notice that he’s not alone anymore. There’s a man not far from him, looking at Jimin like he’s assessing whether it’s worth it to mug him. Jimin really hopes the man decides to leave him be.

‘Jimin, I presume?’

He knows he’s supposed to be surprised, but somehow he isn’t. From what he knows, the guy Tae is seeing is somewhat of a leader around here. Leave it to Kim Taehyung to fall into the pack of wolves and make the alpha fall for him. So yes, he’s probably talked about him, so Jimin isn’t surprised. He’s just scared shitless, but that is another matter.

‘Yes. I want to see Taehyung.’

He expects the guy to roll his eyes at him, or tell him to get lost, or at least threaten him or something. But no, he just nods and turns around, signalling Jimin to follow him.

‘Tae guessed you’ll come at some point or another. It’s a good thing you did it while I’m on watch. Some guys around here aren’t so.. familiar with the Hades.’

That’s another thing about this gang - they didn’t just take the name of Greek hell, they go by the names of gods too. Jimin thinks it’s a little pretentious. The guy, meanwhile, keeps talking, making Jimin wonder how such a.. bright person ended up here. He seems at ease surrounded by the dark atmosphere of decay and crime. His silver hair is glinting in the setting sun, and it’s like there’s a halo around him. How does he fit in here? But then again, Tae is among them, and there’s no brighter person.

‘I’m Orpheus. But normal people call me Taeyong.’

Jimin wonders how the man in such company came to be called like a mythological musician, but he’s not here to make friends, so he stays silent.

They don’t walk for too long - the entrance to the Underworld is well known to everyone who listens to the rumors, and they are mostly true - it’s a medium-sized black door that, by the looks of it, stood through a fire and at least two separate shootings. It’s the back door of the bar Jimin saw from the outside, and even the goddamn wood gives off an unsettling vibe. At least there’s no giant dog.

They step inside, and Jimin takes the surroundings in - it’s a simple room designed to look like an old-fashioned bar, illuminated by red overlights. Some indie music is playing, but Jimin doesn’t have time to try and recognize a song - Taeyong leads him behind the counter and through the concealed door. There’s a long corridor with dozens of doors, and he feels trapped all of a sudden. He won’t back away, though. He’d go through actual hell for Tae, and he won’t let this modern imitation of it intimidate him.

Taeyong leads him past every door to another at the end of the corridor - this one is double sized and yes, also jarred with bullet holes.

Jimin hears voices from behind it, but they don’t sound aggressive, on the contrary - they’re soft, and after a second or so Jimin hears the painfully familiar deep laugh. Taeyong knocks and waits until a rough ‘Come in’ is heard. They step inside, and Jimin doesn’t even have time to look around, because the moment he is seen from the doorway, there’s a body slamming into him and hugging the shit out of him.

‘Chim!’

He’s instantly engulfed in the familiar smell of his friend, this time mixed in with something bittersweet, and he wraps his arms around Taehyung, calmed down by his solid presence.

’Tae, let me breathe.’

He wouldn’t mind if Taehyung strangled him, to be honest, but he is a bit pissed at the younger at the moment, so sue him. Tae suddenly stopped showing up to uni, communicating only through text, and Jimin was worried sick.

He disentangles himself from his friend, and takes Tae’s face in his hands, inspecting it carefully. There seems no bruises or scrapes, and even the usual haunting look of exhaustion is gone from his face. Tae waits patiently, pursing his lips to keep off a smile. Kookie would never hurt him, but Jimin doesn’t know this and needs to check. Finally, when he seems satisfied, he hits Tae in the shoulder.

‘I was worried sick, you idiot.’

’I texted you!’

’Yeah well, for all I know, it could’ve been someone else using your phone and your favorite emojis.’

Tae smiles, rubbing his shoulder. Jimin notices how much he missed that rectangular smile. He can’t help it, there are tears in his eyes. He tries to hold them back, but Tae notices. He always does.

’Ah, Chim, you’re so cute. I’m fine, see. And I knew you’d come!’

Jimin doesn’t get to answer, because there’s that same rough voice, albeit it sounds gentler now that it’s not coming through the door.

‘Why’d you kept moping, then?’

The man talking comes into view, and the first thought that flashes trough Jimin’s mind when he sees the infamous Hades is how painstakingly young he looks. His eyes are a different tale, though. They look old, ancient even, and so wise it scares him. Something akin to recognition surfaces in Jimin’s mind, but it’s gone before he can focus on it.

He’s probably seen him around town.

Hades offers his hand, and Jimin takes it without hesitation. It surprises him, but something inside him believes that Hades isn’t a threat. Not now, anyway.

‘Jeon Jungkook.’

Jimin is a little surprised - members of the Underworld are supposedly very protective of their identities. It must be obvious on his face, for Jungkook smiles a little.

‘You’re Tae’s best friend. I trust you.’

Just like that. Is it some criminal honor he’s being forced to return? He breathes in deep, bracing himself for what he’s about to say to a literal gang leader. He takes Jungkook’s hand, squeezing it hard. His hands may not be as big as Hades’, but he’s not about to seem weak.

‘Park Jimin. And I don’t care if you trust me - the second you hurt Taehyung, I’ll rat you out to the police.’

He’s not lying. He may hate Taehyung’s father with everything he has, but he will not hesitate to give his everything to put this whole organization in jail. He doesn’t care about what they do unless it hurts his Tae.

Jungkook nods approvingly. There’s a small smirk on his lips. Jimin can admit he’s handsome, but he knows this same man can turn into a murderer in a heartbeat. He already is one. But once again, Jimin doesn’t care much for the people who are unfortunate enough to cross Underworld’s path. They’ve hurt him all his life, and he stopped believing in saving humanity a long time ago.

‘Fair enough,’ Jungkook hums. ‘And I know you probably won’t believe me, but I’d never hurt him.’

’You’re a criminal,’ he scoffs. ‘It may not be intentional, but there’s still a possibility.’

He knows he’s probably overstepping, but if he’s going to die today, may as well leave spectacularly.

Jungkook’s face is dark now, but Jimin is somehow sure he’s not mad at him. His expression is grim and frightening, and maybe Jimin sees the logic behind his nickname now.

‘I can and will protect him. No one will dare to touch him, not while I’m alive.’

It’s silent and tense, and it seems like they’re both testing each other. Jimin can see all the truth behind Jungkook’s words in his eyes. This city is rotten to the core and ruled by criminals, but Jungkook is the king of them all, and if there’s someone who can protect Taehyung, it’s him. Jimin lets out a breath. It’s not perfect, but he’s content for now. He is still going to try to get Tae out, of course, but at least he’s not scared they’re both gonna be killed anymore. Jimin lets go of Jungkook’s hand and nods.

‘Good.’

Tae bursts out laughing beside him. For the second time, Jimin notes how content and rested he looks. It’s new, but not unwelcome.

For as long as he remembers, Taehyung never got enough sleep, not even when he sneaked out of the house and came to Jimin’s to crash. Their childhoods were never the happiest ones, and they both got the demons haunting them, but it was always harder for Tae. It was like he always had a shadow following him, scaring and keeping him on edge, and his asshole father wasn’t of any help. Taehyung has been tortured by nightmares since before they knew each other, and sometimes he woke up screaming and reaching out for something, never seeming to get a hold of it. But now Jimin looks at the way he cradles Jungkook’s hand in his and thinks that maybe he had finally found it.

He wishes his own devil could be exiled with someone to care for, but his nightmare isn’t just in his head. Tae, on the other hand… Jimin smiles. He won’t think about his own problems now. Taehyung is his priority at the moment.

Tae smiles in return and grabs his hand.

‘I hope you’re not planning on leaving anytime soon. We’re having a movie night!’

◕

_Taehyung knows this street is dangerous, and he knows that because father never misses an opportunity to boast about the number of criminals he’d arrested here. Taehyung hates it all, to be honest, this whole justice thing because it never did him, or most of the people he knows, any good. Justice is rotten in this city, it turns away its leaking eyes every time it is needed. It didn’t help his mother so many years ago when he needed it, and it didn’t help Jimin when his father tried to strangle him, and it certainly isn’t helping now - for Tae stands before the man who is supposed to rot in jail for all the atrocities he’s supposedly done. Jungkook looks tired, but then again he always does._

_Taehyung doesn’t know whether he’s happy to see him, and he’s contemplating turning back and leaving, but at the same moment the thought crosses his mind, Jungkook reaches out and takes his hand. His fingers are cold, but Taehyung doesn’t mind. They’ll get warm soon enough, he just needs to hold tight._

_Kook leads him to the rooftop of the Underworld building, and he can see the whole city from here. Headquarters are twenty stories high, and every floor is somehow connected to the gang dealings. Some floors are apartments of close members, some - restaurants and establishments where people go when they want to get a taste of forbidden fruit, but Kook told him that the rooftop is closed off. Only a few people are allowed in here, and he’s now one of them._

_Nothing has happened between them apart from some tentative touches, and Taehyung craves more. Jungkook intrigues him, makes him want more, and Tae knows, can’t deny for he hates lying to himself, that at first it was somehow connected to his desire to spite his father. But not now. He’s seen Kook now, truly seen him, the real man behind the rumors and ‘wanted’ posters. He’s real. He doesn’t hide behind the persona of Hades, it is not his mask._

He is the Hades. _Ruling over the darkest of them all and not shying away from standing in their midst. He never denied what he did - talked freely with Taehyung about his work, even after finding out that his father is that asshole detective trying to bring the Underworld down. Tae wants to laugh at how naїve his dad is, for there is literally nothing that can destroy them. And he is thrilled, excited about the freedom being with Jungkook gives him._

_He’s incredible, talking about murder and drugs like it’s five o’clock tea, describing how he managed to get on top, and declaring without a fear in his eyes that he will destroy anyone who dares touch his family; and getting flustered when Tae touches his lips._

_Just like now - they’re sitting on the edge, and Taehyung reaches out, placing his fingertips on Kook’s lips, interrupting his talk. He breathes out and smiles._

_‘Can I stay with you?’_

_Jungkook’s speechless, looking at him like he’s seen the sun, and Taehyung wonders for the twentieth time how is he real. There’s something so heartbreaking and sad in Jungkook’s eyes at all times, that untraceable seal of despair that he can’t help but notice every time he looks at him. But now it’s like someone reached out and turned the light on. Maybe, it was Taehyung himself. It makes him giddy._

_Kook’s lips move under his fingers, and he can feel they’re chapped and a little dry. It’s exhilarating._

_‘You can do whatever you want, sun. And you can have all of me.’_

_He feels something explode inside of him like some magician pulled out flowers out of his top hat, and he leans closer, finally, finally about to find out how it feels to kiss the god of hell._

_Jungkook tastes of smoke and something bittersweet, something Taehyung can’t put his finger on. He’s holding onto some fragile railings, but he’s not afraid to fall - Jungkook holds him securely by the waist. He can’t stop, doesn’t want to stop. It feels like nothing ever before, like he was meant to wake up every night all his life just to get here - to Hades’ arms and lips. He needs to breathe, so he pulls away, but not far, for it now seems impossible to be farther away from him than a few centimetres._

_It’s twilight, and the city is beautiful, especially with them in it. Taehyung’s not shy, he knows they are gorgeous, and he is ecstatic. The whole world needs to know they exist and exist together. He kisses Jungkook again, puts his hands on his shoulders, feeling the material of his leather jacket, still-warm from the sun, and he can’t help but smile. It feels like they’re meant to do this, to be together and be them, but at the same time, it is new. He feels something shift inside of him. It’s strange, but he submits, for as long as he’s here - it is right._

II

Yoongi will never figure out how the fuck Hoseok manages to keep up with his lifestyle and still look like he was birthed by pure energy. The guy is getting his third degree, runs a dozen of the university clubs, and controls his own little army inside the college and on the riverbanks. He's somewhat of a mediator between two towns, and he's always the guy to go to when you have a bone to pick with either Zeus or Hades but are too afraid to approach them. The man is swamped, and still, he looks well-rested and radiating content, while Yoongi feels like he crawled out of literal hell even though he slept relatively good today. If he were to be completely honest, he wants to punch Hoseok sometimes.

‘Why so grim, deary?’

They’re sitting on a pier, throwing rocks into the river (it's far more peaceful and fun than throwing bodies there) and Yoongi is on his third cigarette. Hoseok likes being near everything wet so much it’s creepy, and every time they manage to meet it is near some body of water, be it a pool or a fountain in the park. He claims his skin is just too dry and he needs humidity, but if Yoongi were to make a guess, he’d say water somehow stables Hoseok and his energy.

‘You know everything there is to know about me, Hobi. You’re really surprised?’ He throws a cigarette butt into the river and hears an expected gasp from his left.

‘How dare you to litter this precious stream?’

He grabs some stick and tries to reach the surface, but they both know it’s pointless. Hoseok slumps his shoulders and, oh for fuck’s sake, he’s pouting. Yoongi rolls his eyes.

'So you don't mind us throwing dead people in there, but I can't even throw out a cigarette?'

Hoseok gasps dramatically again.

'We feed the fish with those bodies!'

Yoongi can't help it - he laughs.

‘I’m sorry, man, don’t be mad at me. I’ve got enough on my plate.’

Hobi throws a glance at him and stays silent. His pout is gone, though, and his hands are folded on his lap like they always are when he’s ready to listen to Yoongi vent.

He doesn’t particularly know how they became friends. He was barely fourteen at the time, just having cut all his ties with the system - he stopped getting caught, they stopped looking. He was trying to steal some kid’s wallet, but the guy turned out to be very good at street fighting and had Yoongi on his back in three seconds. He wasn’t angry, though, just confused. He bought Yoongi a burger and a chocolate milkshake, asked him what the fuck he thought he was doing and they’ve been friends ever since.

Hobi never judged - his father, the infamous Cronus, ruled over the criminal part of the city, managing to deal with both towns, so Hobi thought it wasn’t his place to chastise someone for their life choices. He tried to offer Yoongi a place to live but stopped after a glare. When he got into college and got his own place, though, the spare bed was always technically Yoongi’s. He rarely spent nights there, but he always knew he had a place to come back to. After their father died and Namjoon took over the business, Hoseok would fix Yoongi up with some jobs. He didn't want to get involved with the Zeus full-time, but he gave good money to run some errands. Especially when the town that is now known as Underworld almost tear itself apart with internal wars. Namjoon always liked to send Yoongi in there to help with something, and with each time he came back battered, but alive, there was more and more respect in his eyes. That was how he learned the towns inside and out and got on the Zeus’ good side. And well, at some point Jungkook surprised everyone by taking over his own branch and claiming he will clear out the part of the city that ‘went bad’. He had only a few people on his side, including Taeyong, and Yoongi got curious. He went to meet him properly, believed that if there’s someone who can do it, it’s him, and the rest is history

'What's up, oh mighty warrior?'

Yoongi snorts and punches him lightly on the shoulder. Hobi thinks all their nicknames are ridiculous, but never misses a chance to make a joke about them, and he never objects when people call him Poseidon, although he never openly agreed with his status of the gangs‘ member.

‘Kook met someone,’ he trusts Hoseok to not rat Jungkook out to his older brother. Hobi is good at listening and giving advice, but he’s not the one to gossip. ‘I don’t know where it’s going, but he seems taken with the guy.’

Hoseok raises his eyebrows.

‘Guy? Wow, half the gang owes me fifty bucks each. I always knew the gay agenda will make me rich.’

‘You’re already loaded, and wow, are you seriously making bets about your brother’s love life?’

‘Like you never did it.’

Yoongi suppresses a smile.

‘Okay, I may have a bet running with Taeyong about how long it will take for Kook to convince the guy to move in with us all.’

Hobi rubs his chin dramatically.

‘A month.’

Yoongi smirks, and looks at the sky, feigning innocence.

‘You owe me a hundred, he moved in after three weeks.’

‘You traitorous asshole!’

They both laugh, and there's a silence for some time. Yoongi observes the horizon, noticing that no matter how shitty this city can be, it always has the best views. They have an errand to run in a couple of hours, and he reminds himself to talk to Ten before going into action. He's not in a hurry to leave, but if he wants to really unload his mind, he needs to start talking now.

Hoseok seems to utilize his ability to speak at exactly the right moment, for he raises his voice again.

'I have a bet on you too, by the way.' He waits until Yoongi's eyes are on him, and smiles a little with just a corner of his lips turning up. He looks somewhat sad. 'Who will it take to make you happier.'

Yoongi turns his eyes back to the sky and swallows. Leave it to Hoseok to make him emotional when he really hates that crap.

'Yeah? And what's your stake?' He looks at his friend again and notices the tentative look in his gaze. 'Someone badass, I presume?'

'That's for sure,' Hoseok snorts. 'But more than that. You don't need someone to out-badass you. You need someone to mediate all that rage inside your heart, otherwise, you'll get filled with warmth, and it will explode.'

Yoongi frowns. He knows that line.

'Are you fucking referencing Starfire?'

'Girl got good thoughts, man,' he half-shrugs. 'And yeah, you're totally the Red Hood type. But anyway, what I mean is... You are one of the best people I know, but you're walking on the edge.’ He sniffs, not looking at Yoongi. He may be better at speaking about this shit out loud, but it doesn’t mean it’s easy. ‘You need-- _I_ need for someone to come along who will hold you back from falling over.'

Yoongi stays silent. Lights another cigarette. Hobi's right, he always is, but he's not sure whether there's a person in the near vicinity that can manage the mess of a man he is, and stay sane at the same time. He's not delusional, and he realizes that he's unstable. A ticking bomb waiting to explode. He doubts there's someone willing to cuddle with that. All drama aside, Yoongi loves cuddling.

‘Wow. That’s depressing,’ he tries to lighten the mood, but the thing is - it’s not really a joke. His life is an extensive playfield for a psychotherapist. With a fucking see-saw. ‘Whoever you’re betting against is robbing you blind.’

Hoseok sighs. They sit in silence again, and it gives Yoongi time to get his thoughts together.

‘My watch is working again, you know. Has been for two months now.’

Hobi turns his head so fast Yoongi winces, concerned for the state of his friend’s neck. Hoseok is one of the few people who know about his strange device. It was one of the first things he noticed when they first met, and he’s been intrigued by it for years. He takes Yoongi’s wrist in his hands, examining the watch for himself. There’s not a lot to see - just a seemingly regular mechanism ticking away and counting down who knows what.

‘The time’s wrong,’ Hoseok notes, still carefully looking over the display.

‘I know. Can’t get around to setting it right.’

 _Don’t want to,_ he doesn’t add.

‘What do you think set it off?’

Yoongi frowns, thinking it over.

‘Ask me if I know. It was always in perfect shape, but something stopped it from going. And then one moment it just started ticking.’

Hobi lets go of his wrist, but there’s still a thoughtful expression on his face. He takes the lit cigarette from Yoongi’s hand and takes a drag. Yoongi wonders for the hundredth time how the asshole manages to smoke and be a sportsman at the same time. The guy has the lungs of a whale.

‘You remember when exactly it happened?’

Yoongi blinks a couple of times, thinking it over.

‘Actually, I do. We were meeting up with some people near the Uni. It was seconds before that guy came along, Taehyung, the one Kook has hots for.’

Hobi nods. Yoongi wonders what’s he thinking about, but he knows he’ll tell him everything when he deems necessary.

‘Was he alone?’

Yoongi swallows.

‘..No, there was someone else. His friend, Jimin or something. We never met him, actually, but Tae keeps talking about him,’ he says, thinking that it’s an understatement. Ever since he became a regular addition to the Underworld, he’s been talking about the ‘Chim-Chim, the bestest friend ever, platonic soulmate, and the smartest cupcake on campus with questionable taste in men’ whenever he got a chance. He still keeps mentioning him. That’s when he’s not glued to Kook's side, of course.

'Interesting,' Hobi hums absentmindedly and takes another drag. Yoongi takes his cigarette back, but it's all burned out now. He covertly puts in the crack in the pavement. It's not water, so he's upgrading.

‘Why?’

Hoseok shrugs, looking at the water and chewing on his lip.

‘I don’t believe in coincidences, my friend,’ he traces his forearm tattoo without noticing it. It’s a trident, with splashes of water coming out of its spikes and encircling his arm. ‘Everything is connected, and maybe it could mean something changing for you. Some vital part of your life starting, or something like that?’ He tilts his head and looks at Yoongi, squinting his eyes against the setting sun. ‘You know what I mean?’

To be honest, Yoongi rarely does right away, because Hoseok can be more cryptic that Seokjin, but this time he gets it. He’s thought about it himself, but it’s been months and nothing had changed. He tells Hoseok that, but Hobi snorts and claps his hand together - his signature ‘are you kidding me how can you be this dense’ gesture.

‘That Taehyung guy? Appearing right when the clock starts working? And besides, don’t tell me you didn’t feel something different.’

‘Ok, I may have,’ he sighs, knowing there’s no point in denying it. ‘But—‘

He doesn’t finish the sentence. Has no idea how. Yes, something had changed, but everything around him is the same. He expected shit to get moving, some vital part of his life transform, his world to tilt off its axis or some shit like that, but there is nothing. Nada. Rien.

He suddenly feels so annoyed he gets up and starts pacing.

‘Where is it?’ He tugs at his hair. ‘I keep waiting for this— this thing, but nothing comes. I am so fucking tired of waiting, Hobi, you have no idea. I’m content with my life, I always was, and I never asked to be wired this way. Like I’m just waiting for someone to, like, I don’t know, switch me on! I’d be okay without that shit inside of me, thank you very much.’

Hoseok says nothing. Yoongi kicks a rock and sends it flying, lending with a loud sound into the water. He’s tired. Nothing makes sense anymore, and he just wants to take a break. He thought the talk with Hoseok will help, but it only made everything worse, and he now wants to get away.

‘Why am I the only one still waiting?’ He asks quietly. Kook felt it too, but his _something_ is already around. And he’s not jealous, no, he’s happy, but he just wishes— ‘What am I doing wrong?’

There’s a gust of wind, and he realizes with heartbreaking clarity that he can feel that smell again. Grapes and roses, and he wants to cry like a harpy, tell it to get away and stop haunting him, but it only gets stronger. He thinks it’s coming from the direction of The Street, and it only makes it worse. It’s like everything around him, including nature and the place he considers home, is mocking him. He sprints to Hoseok and grips his shoulder.

‘Can you smell it?’

Hobi looks confused, but Yoongi must look frantic enough for him to stay silent and sniff.

‘I smell only water, Yoongi. Why?’

It can’t be, it should seem impossible, because the sweet smell is so overwhelming Yoongi feels dizzy, but he’s already used to it. Maybe he's just mentally unhealthy because he heard people with some illnesses can smell things that aren’t there, but this explanation never sat well with him. No, it has to be something else.

He lets go of Hobi and rubs his face. He’s tired, oh how he is tired.

‘I’d advise you to drop the bet,’ he says in a quiet voice. ‘I’m used to myself, but I’ll never make someone keep up with this.’ He gestures to his temple with his finger and turns around. ‘Thanks for the talk, Poseidon. I’ll see you around.’

He hears Hoseok sigh and bid his own goodbye, but he doesn’t have the energy to feel like a dick. The guilt and reminder that it’s not Hobi’s fault for speaking the obvious facts no matter how Yoongi doesn’t like them will come later. Now he needs to calm the fuck down, stop pitying himself and get his shit together. He can’t allow himself to fall apart. It’s one thing to be sad and confused in front of his best friend, but now he needs to show his best for his crew. And fuck, he remembers seeing Ten eyeing the katana this morning, so he needs to have that talk with him already. It’s been long overdue.

The sun is warming his shoulders, but he still feels cold.

◕

_‘My mom died when I was eleven.’_

_His knees are tucked under his chin, and he’s curled in on himself, looking at the park in front of them with absent and faraway expression in his eyes._

_It’s four in the morning, and this is the first time Jungkook’s brought someone to this place. He always liked to come here when he needed to get away, to this clearing in the local park, surrounded by the blooming trees. It isn’t visible from any point of the sidewalk, and he never stumbled upon anyone here, so he allowed himself to pretend it was his special place. He always came alone, until today, when it seemed only right to bring Taehyung here. He just thought that the boy will fit perfectly in here, and now as he looks at him, the manifestation of beauty surrounded by the flowering nature, and thinks it was the right decision. It’s like Tae was created by spring itself, and his mere presence makes Jungkook feel lighter._

_He braces himself and moves closer, wrapping his hands around Tae’s middle and resting his chin on his shoulder. He smells of tulips and freedom. It’s been only a month, but he already knows he’s gone for this surreal boy with silver hair._

_‘I’m really sorry, sweetheart,’ he whispers and squeezes his body lightly, letting him know he’s here but not intruding. He feels Tae move slightly closer, inclining his head to the side. ‘What happened?’_

_‘Hit-and-run,’ he shrugs lightly as to not push Kook away. He likes the feeling of his hands around him, and it’s the first time since Jimin that he doesn’t want to scrub his skin raw to get rid of the feeling of someone touching him. ‘They never found the guy. I don’t know if I was just mad or it was true, but my father never seemed to even try.’_

_Jungkook tries not to tense up. He knows a lot about detective Kim, and if there exists someone that he hates more than his own father, it’s the man that has somehow produced an incredible being in Jungkook’s hands._

_And it’s not just the fact that they’re on the polar opposites of the law, no. There are a few guys in his gang that he hadn’t gotten out in time at some point in the past. They had to spend some time in that man’s company, and it was worse than anything they’ve ever experienced. And those men came from the shittiest background imaginable._

_Detective Kim is an evil man, and Jungkook, being an epitome of that, knows what he’s talking about._

_‘He always boasts about his victories, and how he’s good at catching bad guys, but he couldn’t care less about the death of his own wife,’ Taehyung’s voice is thick, and Kook is suddenly filled with the rage so great he can feel his hands tremble. But seconds later there’s another pair of palms on his, and he wills himself to calm down. ‘Please, don’t get mad.’_

_‘How can I not?’ Kook sighs, talking quietly. ‘If I could, I would’ve killed him long ago.’_

_Taehyung frowns, and Jungkook wonders whether it was a right thing to say. Tae may despise his father, but it’s two completely different things - to hate a man and to want him dead. But he needs to finish, needs Tae to know._

_‘You were the reason I didn’t,’ he confesses and watches with a little smile how Tae’s brows shot up. ‘I mean, I didn’t know who you were, but I knew he had a kid. I thought— I hoped he was at least kind to his own child. And I didn’t want to take away the only support that boy had. So yeah, you’re basically the reason he’s still breathing. Maybe, it was for the best. You probably would’ve hated me if I had your father murdered.’_

_There’s a long pause, and Kook worries a little, but Tae’s hands are still on his, holding tightly, warming and calming him down._

_‘You’re probably right. But,’ he turns his head and looks into his eyes. Jungkook thinks, for what must be a thousandth time, how breathtakingly beautiful Taehyung is, and how there’s even more beauty inside of him. ‘He was never a kind man. He still isn’t.’_

_Jungkook suspected it, but up until his moment, he refused to believe it. How did such a brilliant flower manage to bloom under that mess of a man? He didn’t want to ask, for he wanted Tae to tell him in his own time, and it seems that time is now._

_Oh, how pissed he is. He sees red, thinking about how that wretched asshole put his hands on his son, and he wants to get up right now and go find him. It probably shows on his face, for Tae squeezes his even tighter and shakes his head._

_‘It’s okay.’_

_‘No, it’s not,’ he frees his hands and brings them up to hug Tae’s face. He kisses him with all the affection he has, trying to convey in the simplest of touches how much he means to him. He pulls away, but not far. ‘You are one of the best things on this fucking planet. You deserve to be treated like a king, and he dares to raise his hand on you. Please, just say a word and I’ll deal with him myself.’_

_And at first he thinks he imagined it, but it’s real - Tae laughs, and his breath gushes over Kook’s face, smelling of his own cigarettes and something sweet._

_‘You’re adorable when you’re pissed.’_

_‘I’m not adorable, I’m the King of Hell,’ he tries to sound offended, but it’s hard to hold a straight face when you’re being smiled at by an epitome of beauty._

_‘Sure, Jan,’ Tae laughs louder now, and Jungkook can’t help it. He feels his anger deflating like a balloon. ‘Don’t bother with him. I’m with you now, and I don’t plan on visiting home very often.’_

_Jungkook doesn’t know whether he does it on purpose, but it works anyway. Just a reminder that Tae now spends more time in the Underworld than at home fills him with bubbling joy, and he smiles, kissing Tae again._

_‘We’ll deal with him in its own time, okay?’ Tae asks, biting his lip, and Jungkook smiles wider, hearing the simple ‘we’. ‘But for now, let’s forget about it.’_

_Jungkook nods and wraps his arms around him once again. He won’t tell it to Tae, but he’s already planning on how he will make the life of one detective Kim approximately a million times harder. There are a lot of ways to make a man miserable without killing him._

II

It's already dark by the time he gets to the Underworld. The bar is empty aside from Ten, whom he texted ten minutes ago. Yoongi looks at the time and realizes that the staff will be here soon for the opening, so they need to hurry up with this. Ten seems nervous, but Yoongi still has troubles reading him, even after two and a half years of living under the same roof. Taeyong is more of a local Ten-expert, for he's the first one Ten properly met and got along with.

Yoongi remembers the day Ten suddenly appeared. It was about four in the morning, the bar just closed down and the staff were cleaning up. Kook and he were in this same room, discussing something business-related, when the back door meant only for the members of the gang burst open, and Taeyong fell in with a very bloody man in his arms.

They were used to seeing wounded people, but what was shockingly unusual is the look on Taeyong always calm and collected face. He was so panicked and scared that Yoongi still remembers his expression in excruciating detail. The next unusual thing was that the man he was carrying wasn't one of theirs.

They shot up from their seats, opening the door to the corridor leading to the living quarters reserved for temporary guests. Taeyong had a station set up in one of them, because it was useful to have a fully-equipped medical room on hand when you were operating as a criminal gang, and always had a potential to come home with a bullet in your ass.

Taeyong was silent all the way, and even after, when he was working on patching the man up, so focused despite his ragged breath and scared eyes. Yoongi stayed the whole time, his head full of questions, but mainly - an uneasy worrying feeling in his gut that he felt when looking at Taeyong's panicked face.

Because Taeyong never panicked. He always stayed collected, no matter the amount of shit going down. Yoongi was the one who couldn't control his emotions, Jungkook was the one who always handled them for everyone, and Taeyong was the one who never let them take over his mind.

But not that day. Yoongi couldn't help but notice the urgency with which he grabbed the instruments and worked on a huge gaping wound on man's stomach. His green hair was messy and covered in blood splashes in some places, and his favorite shirt was ripped on the sleeve, but he didn't pay it much heed. Yoongi remembers grabbing this same shirt when Taeyong was pulling out a bullet out of his leg, and the jerk actually made him feel more pain, explaining it by 'you'll live no matter the pain, but I won't get another one of this if you rip it, idiot, they don’t make them anymore'. But it apparently stopped mattering, for the man obviously was clutching it so hard it actually ripped, and Taeyong didn't care.

Ten's face is healthy and even radiant now, but the first time Yoongi got a proper look at him it was dirty and thin. Bones of his face were so visible he reminded Yoongi of that skull painting they had in the living room. His hair, obviously grey at some point, but now washed out and with dark roots showing, was dirty and greasy. His clothes were mismatched and ripped in many places, and his hands were covered in bruises. Yoongi remembers wanting to make a joke about Taeyong being so desperate for the lay that he picked up random homeless people to ease the tension, but his lips wouldn't move. He was scared of and for Taeyong.

The operation went good, and an hour later cleaned up and drugged stranger was sleeping in Taeyong's room on the seventh floor, and all three of them were drinking in the bar, Taeyong only holding the glass but not taking a sip.

'I need a favor, Yoongi.'

It's the first thing he'd said since arriving, and Yoongi put down his glass.

'Everything for you, Tae, you know that.'

He nodded, and rubbed his face.

'If I weren't in that alley on time, he could've been dead,' there was a strange shiver down his hands, and he clasped his palms together. 'The guy that did it got spooked and ran away, but I memorized his face and clothes.'

Yoongi suddenly realized where this was going, and some part of his mind was already planning how he would track down the assailant. There was still one unclear thing, though.

'I'll take care of him, don't worry. But Tae--' he hesitated, not knowing how to properly ask what he wanted to know.

Thankfully, Jungkook stayed his usual eversaving self.

'Who is he to you, man?'

Taeyong shuddered even more, and Yoongi watched as if in slow-motion how his face crumbled, and he put his palms over his eyes.

'I don't know,' his voice was so gut-wrenching Yoongi suddenly remembered the first time they met when he was just a scared boy, with nothing behind his name but an old guitar and a broken heart. 'But when I saw him, it wasn't just the wish to help someone in need. God, I have no idea, but I took one look at him, and it's like-- I suddenly knew that if I don't save him, it will destroy me. If I don't protect him, I will be gone myself.'

There was silence, broken only by his ragged breath. Yoongi had been freaked out even more than previously, but somehow, he couldn’t properly convey why, he understood what Tae meant. He'd never felt something relatively close, except maybe that time Kook was shot in the chest, and Yoongi felt powerless and useless, but still, it wasn’t this gut-wrenching. But he got it.

'Just tell me everything you remember, and I will destroy him.'

Taeyong lowered his palms and looked at him with such devotion it actually hurt. He reached out and pulled Yoongi into a hug, and that's what solidified it. They all cared for each other, but they rarely showed physical affection, Taeyong even less than others. And if this whole situation had him in such a state, Yoongi wouldn't rest until he got his hands on the asshole that did it.

He found him, of course, he did, and he made sure the bastard suffered for a long time before being taken by death. He would've done it ten times over.

Yoongi looks at Ten's face now and thinks about what would've happened to him if Taeyong hadn't found him and brought him back to life. What would’ve happened to Taeyong if Ten didn’t survive. The words Tae spoke back then, and the desperation in his voice, is still fresh in Yoongi's mind, and it makes him even more agitated than before. A long walk he had after meeting up with Hoseok didn't do him much good, and there's still a nagging voice at the back of his mind that keeps telling him he's a doomed mess of a man.

'What did you want to talk about?' Ten is seemingly calm, but Yoongi can see his fingers fidgeting slightly.

Yoongi drops on the chair opposing Ten and cuts straight to the chase.

‘What are you doing in my crew?’

He knows he could’ve phrased that better, but his mind is a pile of feelings right now. Ten is obviously taken aback, but to his credit, he composes himself quickly.

‘You want me to leave?’

Yoongi sighs and tries to hold in his irritation. He hates when people answer his questions with more questions.

‘Just answer the fucking question, Ten. I’m not kicking you out, you’re one of the best people I’ve ever had, but I need to know that you understand your role properly.’

Ten frowns and purses his lips. Yoongi knows he’s making the guy uneasy, but Ten knows who he is. Working with Yoongi had never been easy, and he doubts the situation will brighten up any time soon.

‘Well, you’re the best hitman I know, and I’ve met a lot. Back in the day.’

Ah yes, his past. The one they talked about precisely once and agreed to never discuss again. Once again, out of them all, Taeyong is probably the only one who knows Ten best.

‘And I was content where I was before the crew,’ Ten continues. ‘But I owe you guys everything, and I want to give back. You gave me shelter, and the least I can do is bring in as much as I can.’

Now, Yoongi understands where he’s coming from, but that’s not the thing he wants to hear, and on top of all the shit inside of him, his head starts throbbing with pain.

‘That’s cute and everything, but home isn’t a thing I want on your mind when we’re out there,’ he sighs and reaches for the bottle of scotch conveniently standing nearby. Ten probably took it out before Yoongi appeared. Good thinking. ‘I want you to always remember what you are. What we are.’

‘A vengeance machine,’ Ten supplies and Yoongi snorts.

‘Yeah, something like that. Look. I’m a little fucked right now, so we will may have to repeat this later on, but right now I need you to remember one thing.’ He takes a drink and tries to phrase his thoughts as clearly as he can giving the shitty state he’s in. ‘Never hesitate. If I say kill, you don’t even stop to ask me how - you kill. If you see a threat, you dispose of it. I rarely dump my responsibilities on other people, but even I sometimes need a helping hand. If I didn’t, there wouldn’t be a crew. I trust Johnny, Mark, and the other guys with my life, but you’re the new one, and I need you to see things clearly.’

Ten nods, and Yoongi hopes he really understands, and not just agrees with everything for Yoongi’s sake. He sighs. He’s still not convinced Ten gets it, but he at least voiced his thoughts. That should be enough for now.

‘And one more thing,’ he downs the rest of his drink in one go and stands up. ‘Taeyong is my sworn brother, and he loves you with everything he has. I will be the first one to gut the motherfucker that hurts you,’ _I already did once, and oh my, did it feel nice_ _,_ ‘but please don’t make me the one who’s at fault. Be fucking careful, man.’

He looks at Ten attentively, assessing, and nods to himself. They’ll be alright. He seemed to get his message across.

Two hours later, when he’s pressing his hands to Ten’s stomach, pointlessly trying to hold back the blood gushing from his wound, and looking in fear how he slowly passes out, Yoongi thinks that he really needs to work on his rhetorical skills.

↹

It is done. The wedding crown is resting on his head, shaped perfectly and just for him by Hephaestus himself. His wedding gift is also beautiful - it’s a rose bouquet, made of black metal that’s been enchanted to still look like it was just pulled out of the fire. It’s cold to the touch, just like Aphrodite’s heart. His own gift to Hephaestus is a pendant with a beautiful hammer that he graced with the power to allow the one who wears it see whether the person in front of them is being sincere. It’s a cruel joke, he knows, for the moment Hephaestus looks at him after putting it on, there appears an emotion in his eyes akin to anger. Aphrodite never wanted to hide that he despises him, and it is extremely amusing to watch him try to keep up his facade. He turns away from his husband with a self-satisfied smirk only for it to be wiped away when he sees who’s in front of him, ready to grant him with his gift.

Ares is even more beautiful in his battle suit up close. It looks exquisite and light, but Aphrodite knows there’s at least a dozen of weapon items hidden inside. It almost makes him smile, but he doesn’t. It’s hard to look at him. It’s even harder to hear his voice.

‘Aphrodite,’ he almost whimpers at the sound, for it’s one thing to hear Ares’ bloodlust screams far away on the battlefield, and it’s completely another to hear it soft and warm saying his name. ‘Congratulations on making it through.’

He looks up at that, for he didn’t expect Ares to notice how hard it all is. It’s a bold thing to say where everyone can hear. Aphrodite dares a look behind Ares’ back, but all the gods are talking among themselves, waiting for their turn to give gifts. Hephaestus beside him is engrossed in the conversation with Poseidon, so Aphrodite braces himself and leans closer, finally meeting Ares’ eyes.

‘Thank you, Ares. It was a challenge, but someone once told me that even if your only victory is making it to the end of the battle, you’ve still won.’

They both know who originally said that, and he looks with some breathlessness how Ares’ eyes widen.

‘You remember.’

Aphrodite smiles, unable to make it seem careless. He’s so tired of this, and the only thing he wants is to be wrapped up in Ares’ arms, but now it’s even more impossible. He feels brave all of a sudden. What else has he got to lose?

‘I remember every word you have ever said to me, Ares.’

They’re silent, looking at each other, and it’s like there’s nobody else around. He can’t read the emotions in Ares’ eyes, but he can see the string connecting them glow. Could it mean...

‘I need to give you your gift,’ Ares breaks the silence and takes something out of his pocket. It’s so small it fits into his hand. He extends it, and Aphrodite reaches out with his palm upturned. Something cold falls into it, and he tries to hold back tears when he sees what it is.

It’s a beautiful silver necklace, not unlike one he himself gave to Hephaestus, but this one is more exquisite. There’s a tiny encrusted sword on the end of it, and he can’t look away from it, not daring to believe his eyes.

There was a reason he gifted Hephaestus with a hammer and not something associated with him. Giving someone else your symbol is basically declaring giving over your own strength. He wants to look back at Ares, but he’s oh so afraid.

‘I want it to protect you,’ Ares tells him, still incredibly soft and with something so strong behind his voice Aphrodite loses his breath. ‘Seeing as I can’t be there to do it.’

He can’t deny it any longer, for he can see now that the string connecting them is attached to Ares with the same strength it is to his own heart. He thinks he hears a crash, but that’s probably just in his head. Oh, how stupid he is.

He looks up, finally, and there it is in his eyes - an emotion so powerful and raw, desire so great, wishes so broken. He wants to scream.

‘There’s a battle in the east,’ Ares says, and he knows. _He knows_. ‘I depart tomorrow. I don’t know when I’ll be back, so... the best of luck to you, my Aphrodite.’

His heart is screaming and he need to do _something. He can’t let him go, never again._

There is already some movement behind Ares, so he needs to think fast, and fix his own soul before it’s broken beyond repair. He puts the sword necklace on as inconspicuous as he can, and at the same time takes off his own, the only thing he had on him when he manifested out of the sea. It’s a triangle, and it’s the dearest thing he possesses. He reaches out, seemingly to shake Ares’ hand, but as their palms touch, he drops the necklace in his hand.

‘For you to have something precious when you're surrounded by death.'

It’s like the time stops, for he sees his lips turned up in the smallest of smiles, and he holds tight to his hand, and it’s all too much. Aphrodite feels a thousand emotions, and the majority of them are different varieties of happiness. For the first time this evening the smile that graces his lips is a wide, genuine one, and he allows himself one last moment of weakness.

‘Please, come to me before you go.’

His voice is urgent, and he prays that he isn’t mistaken after all, but he doesn’t even have time to panic, for Ares inclines his head in a way that it seems to everyone around them that he’s bidding his goodbyes, and Aphrodite hears the beloved voice one more time.

‘The gardens near your house, at dawn.’

He departs then, throwing one last glance at Aphrodite, one so full of gentleness it makes him smile even more. Poseidon finishes his conversation with Hephaestus and follows his friend, but not before inconspicuously winking to Aphrodite.

‘I wonder why he was so interested in me,’ there’s a voice from his right, and Aphrodite is brought back to the reality of his husband still existing. ‘I can’t stand him.’

Ah, so Poseidon was helping Ares. Somehow, it makes Aphrodite feels giddy.

‘Don’t worry, my husband,’ he turns to Hephaestus with a cold smile. ‘There are a lot of people who can’t stand you, and yet they are forced to be near you.’

He doesn’t wait for Hephaestus’ reaction. He’s too happy to endorse in pointless talks. He cannot wait for this to be over, but now he has something to look forward to, apart from disgusting touch and warm tears.

Aphrodite touches the sword necklace, and he swears he can feel something inside of it beat in sync with his heart. He smiles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> come yell at me on [twitter ](https://twitter.com/romulusadhara)  
> [come yell at me as anon](https://curiouscat.me/romulusadhara)


	3. III. apage.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'how could I ever?'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [chapter moodboard](https://twitter.com/romulusadhara/status/990700891287285761)

_I'll scream and shout, it can't be true!_

_if I wake up and you're gone,_

_what should I do?_

 

↹

 

 

The gardens are beautiful in the morning light, but Aphrodite can’t find it in himself to care about this nature right now. He’s pacing the garden path, his hand constantly flying up to the sword necklace. He’s nervous.

What if Ares won’t come? What if it all was just a cruel joke? What if it’s someone plotting against him? Oh, how he wishes he had the time to talk to Persephone. But his friend left right after the wedding, explaining that he felt strange, and promising to talk about everything later.

Aphrodite puts his hand on the nearby tree. Its skin is rough and strong. He wishes he could be as strong, but his power is one of gentleness and warmth.

‘There are hundreds of beautiful flowers here, but you are the fairest of them all.’

He freezes for a second, but then smiles and turns around.

‘It is a really silly line, and I am an expert,’ he says, taking in the sight of Ares. He’s in his battle armor, and the scarlet clothes burn in the light of the dawn.

Ares comes closer, reaching out. Aphrodite takes his hand without hesitation and feels how cold his hands are. He wondered about that last evening, for the necklace Ares gave to Aphrodite was also cool to the touch.

Ares must realize what he’s thinking about, for he drops his gaze. He frowns a little.

‘I’m always cold. Have no idea why,’ he shrugs, and Aphrodite can’t believe it, but it seems that the mighty god blushes.

Aphrodite finds it so endearing - he giggles. Ares looks up at that, looking taken aback.

‘You truly are beautiful.’

He stops smiling, suddenly feeling uneasy. His fingers clench around Ares’. He can sense the cold of the morning on his flaming cheeks.

‘That’s why you’re here? Because of my beauty?’ He frowns and looks at the ground, all the bubbling feeling inside gone.

There’s a hand on his chin, gently asking him to look up. There’s humor in Ares’ eyes, and it only makes Aphrodite frown more.

‘I have fallen in love with you long before I saw your face,’ his voice is quiet, and so, so close. ‘I’ve heard stories about the god so kind and gentle that evil trembled in his wake. A god who always seeks to gift humans with love and happiness. I have lived years in the world of pain and death, bringing about so many sorrow, death, and loss, and knowing that there is someone who rights my wrongs, consoles those I hurt... it made me content.’

It once again seems like he can’t breathe, for Ares’ words make him still and calm. He’s smiling, and it’s the most beautiful thing Aphrodite has ever seen.

It seems unbelievable that someone praised by the cruelest of humans can be so gentle. Aphrodite comes closer, resting his hands on Ares' shoulders. His armor is rough but shining.

His lips taste like the sweetest thing he'd ever had. He's breathless and breathtaking. Aphrodite fears he is going to explode, for the emotions bubbling inside him are too much even for the god that deals with them on the daily.

Ares’ hands are strong on his back, and he feels so content it’s almost unbelievable that only yesterday he thought his life to be over.

‘How long are you going to be at war for?’ He whispers against Ares’ lips.

Ares hums, stroking his cheek with rough fingers. He looks into his eyes and sees the beauty to which nothing on the Olympus can even come close to.

‘A few months, maybe more. There is a Thracian who promises to be a good warrior. It’s his first battle, and he needs me there,’ he explains.

‘What happened to not having any favorites?’ Aphrodite teases. The sun is almost entirely up now, illuminating Ares’ dark hair from behind.

‘He has potential to bring a lot of good warriors together and make humans tremble. I need to be there.’

They kiss again, and Aphrodite never wants it to end. He sighs and brushes his fingers across his own necklace on Ares’ chest.

‘I’ll wait for you.’ He nods to himself, set on seeing it through and waiting patiently for Ares, even if it takes him a lifetime.

‘You promise you won’t forget me?’ Ares’ tone is teasing, but his eyes are full of worry. It’s strange.

Aphrodite sighs, looking over his face and memorizing it, savoring the seconds they have left together, for he is about to be enveloped in loneliness.

‘How could I ever forget you, my love?’

~

Turns out the ‘movie night’ isn’t a code for some kind of cinema heist. It is, in fact, an actual movie night.

After they made their acquaintances, they moved to one of the rooms Jimin saw on the way to what turned out to be Jungkook’s office. It was some kind of lounge with a big bar on one side, a television stand on the other, and a bunch of couches and armchairs scattered around.

Jimin shot a quick text to his boyfriend, asking for a rain check on their date, and joined Taehyung on the couch. The younger immediately wrapped himself around Jimin and refused to move an inch. Jimin really didn’t mind.

So now here they are, watching some animation that Taehyung insisted on, and apparently, nobody around here can refuse him anything, because all the eyes are fixed on the screen. There’s only four of them, Taeyong joining them after running some errands (Jimin really didn’t want to know about their nature). Apparently, some other people are supposed to come soon, and some part of Jimin is wary of them, but another is glad that he at least has time to adjust.

He has no idea what’s going on in the movie because he’s been watching Jungkook as inconspicuous as he can. The man seems so calm it’s almost frightening. He’s sitting on the other side of Tae, one hand on his thigh, another never letting go of his phone. Jimin noticed that he keeps looking at it almost every two minutes, and it makes him frown. Is he expecting trouble? Or are those people they’re waiting for are somewhere causing some of their own?

He gets an answer soon enough when there’s some scuffle in the corridor. Seconds later, the door bursts open and three people come in.

Well, more like, fall in.

Two of them are supporting the third who is bleeding profusely on the floor. Jungkook shoots up and goes to them, taking the weight off the one on the right who is injured himself. Jungkook and the other man whose face Jimin can’t see drop the wounded man on the couch. Taeyong is beside him in a heartbeat with a first help kit, looking him over and cursing under his breath. Jimin can’t look away from men’s stomach that seems slashed in at least four places.

‘You just can’t stop getting stabbed, can you?’ He hears Taeyong say, and the man on the couch chuckles and then immediately groans.

‘Sorry, angel, maybe I just like you taking care of me,’ he whispers, and Jimin is a bit taken aback.

Jungkook turns to the man who seems better than his companions.

‘What happened? It was supposed to be a simple meetup.’

The man doesn’t answer. He walks over to the bar counter and pours himself some whiskey. Jimin still can’t see his face, only dirty blonde hair and the leather jacket stained in what he assumes is blood.

‘Our friends decided to fuck us over. I wanted to deal with it on my own, but Ten, apparently, is striving to be a local hero.’

His voice is deep and quiet, but somehow it seems to fill out the entire room. Jimin thinks that that voice could lead armies.

‘They’re rotting in the river by now, don’t worry.’

Jungkook curses under his breath and dials someone’s number. Jimin feels out of place, but Tae’s attention is still on the movie. It’s like this is an everyday occurrence, and maybe it is, but Taehyung’s been here for mere weeks, and the fact that he’s already not affected leaves a sour taste in Jimin’s mouth.

Meanwhile, the man at the counter turns around at the same moment Jimin looks up. Their eyes meet, and for a second there’s some flash in his mind, but then it settles. He thinks that maybe he saw him the day Taehyung and he saw the Underworlders. The man is looking at him with some frown, and it looks like he wants to take a step closer but restrains himself. He looks tired and somehow, and Jimin doesn’t know how he knows it, guilty.

Jungkook gets off the phone and is standing near the injured man, worrying his lip between his teeth.

‘What the hell, Ten?’ His voice is soft but full of emotion.

‘I was just-- the guy came at Yoongi, and I had to protect him,’ he wheezes, and Taeyong shushes him.

‘You couldn’t have done it without getting yourself under the knife?’ He asks, working on ripping Ten’s shirt to get to the wound.

‘He’s my priority.’

‘What the fuck?’ It’s Yoongi, and he drops the glass on the counter so hard it breaks. Jimin grips the armrest, watching the scene, filled with dread. ‘We just fucking talked about it, Ten. I told you that the priority is staying alive.’

It’s tense, Jimin notes, and the only sounds are the clinks of Taeyong’s instruments.

‘I guess I misunderstood,’ Ten’s voice is full of guilt, and Jimin frowns. Why is he the one feeling guilty, if it’s the man in charge that is at fault?

‘Ok, shit, we need to move him to my station,’ Taeyong breaks the atmosphere and gets up without letting go of his kit and Ten’s hand. ‘Help me relocate him.’

Jungkook stoops down, carefully taking Ten in his hands by his legs and body. He looks relatively small, but Jimin notes how little effort it takes for him to pick Ten up and carry him out in the corridor.

Taeyong stays behind a little, throwing a glance at Yoongi, who looks at the floor, clenching his fists.

‘This is my fault,’ he says, and it’s so obvious it’s hard for him to say, yet Jimin notes how his voice is shaking with sincerity.

Taeyong sighs and comes over.

‘I don’t have much time to do this,’ he says, bringing his hands upon Yoongi’s shoulders and looking right into his eyes. ‘But if I hear one more word of guilt outta you, I _will_ punch you.’

He wraps his hand around Yoongi’s neck and brings him closer, hugging him slightly. Then he departs into the corridor, following Jungkook.

Its silent again, and Jimin looks at Yoongi. The man is rubbing his eyes, his knuckles stained with blood. It’s incredibly weird and unsettling for Jimin like he’s watching something he isn’t allowed, and he wants to leave, yet he cannot. He’s glued to his place. He can’t look away.

‘Yoon-Yoon!’

Taehyung’s voice seems so loud beside him that Jimin flinches. Yoongi looks up and focuses on Taehyung.

‘I told you not to call me that, brat. It’s Yoongi.’

’And where’s the fun in that?’ Taehyung is smiling, tilting his head. He wraps his arms around Jimin and pushes him forward like he’s showcasing his favorite toy. ‘This is Chim.’

Yoongi nods in recognition and Jimin thinks he sees some disappointment in his eyes.

‘Famous platonic soulmate. Nice to meet you, Jimin.’

He doesn’t offer his hand, but somehow Jimin didn’t expect him to. He just nods and smiles a little at the title.

‘I’d like to say it’s nice to meet you too, but.. uhm.. the circumstances are a little anticlimactic.’

He looks at the door where Jungkook, Taeyong, and Ten disappeared to. He thinks he can hear the muffled groans.

‘Well, he knew what he signed up for when he asked to join my crew.’ He tries to sound indifferent, but there’s an unmistakable worry on his face. ‘They don’t call me Ares for nothing.’

The weird flash is back again, but it’s even more instant that it was before. Jimin looks at Yoongi closely, tries to figure out why does it feel like they know each other, but there’s nothing. He is confident they’ve never met.

‘I’m sorry, this is probably a stupid question, but have we met before?’

He’s half expecting Yoongi to scoff, but instead, the man seems to think about it.

‘No. I don’t think I would’ve forgotten such beauty.’

It’s strange to hear, and Jimin looks down, suddenly annoyed. Yoongi looks confused, and it’s that tense silence all over again.

‘You’re bleeding, Yoon-Yoon,’ Taehyung says, and Jimin looks at the ripped part of Yoongi’s shirt on his chest.

Yoongi looks down on it with a surprised face, like he only just now noticed that he’s injured.

‘Aish, it’s nothing. Ten got the worst of it,’ he frowns again. ‘The idiot.’

‘Will he be okay?’ Jimin asks, suddenly worried about the man who was willing to give his life for Yoongi.

‘He had worse,’ Yoongi shrugs, and walks over to the armchair, dropping there with a tired sigh. ‘And Taeyong pulled us out from the other side more than once.’

Jimin looks closer, assessing him. It seems like he has a lot on his mind, but he knows it’s not his place to ask. And yet, something keeps bothering him.

He doesn’t have time to focus on that, because his phone chimes, and he looks down. There’s a notification about a message from his boyfriend, and Jimin suddenly realizes he forgot to check in. It’s been hours, and he didn’t even notice how they passed.

When he looks back up, he finds Yoongi looking at him, and the same feeling of annoyance appears again. He frowns.

‘What?’

Yoongi shrugs but doesn’t avert his eyes.

‘Nothing, it’s just—‘ he cuts himself off and makes a weird gesture with his lips. If Jimin didn’t know better, he’d think he is pouting. ‘Nothing.’

Jimin breathes out through his nose.

There’s an uneasy feeling inside of him. He looks at Taehyung whose attention is already back on the movie and frowns.

_Oh, Tae, what did you get yourself into?_

III

‘Okay, listen up.’

Taeyong looks tired when he drops into the chair in Yoongi’s room. No wonder - the operation took almost an hour, but now Ten is out of danger, and it’s a relief for all of them. Johnny was injured too, but it was a minor scratch on his shoulder, and Mark seemed to treat it pretty fast. Now that’s a kid that’s learning, and not trying to sacrifice himself for everyone he meets.

‘Before you say anything,’ Yoongi mumbles, rubbing his eyes. If he though his headache was a bitch this evening then now it’s a full-on divorced-with-no-job-and-a-kid pain in the ass. ‘I know I fucked up. I thought I explained it to him clear enough, but apparently, he got the wrong message.’

‘No, shut up, please,’ Taeyong doesn’t seem angry, just annoyed. He hides his tired face in his hands and sighs deeply. ‘Ten is an overachieving idiot who thinks he needs to prove something. I’ll talk to him about it, but right now I need you to hear me clearly.’

Yoongi looks at his face, the one that has become so familiar, and remembers the first time they met. Back then Jungkook was just a family idiot, just out of college and straight into building his own empire. Taeyong was the first person that Yoongi saw, beside Jungkook, in the dingy old bar that used to be their headquarters. He was a lot skinnier back then, and a lot more scared. His eyes seemed to radiate grief, and that unidentifiable emotion Yoongi saw in his own eyes every time he looked in the mirror.

An orphan.

He guessed right. Taeyong told him his story once late at night, before their first deal that later became the beginning point of the long and bright way to establishing the Underworld as leaders of the gang activity on this side of the river.

His story was as simple as it was sad. Had straight A’s, went to study to be a surgeon, fell in love with a rich girl. Her parents didn’t want their only child to be with a broke med student without a home. They took her away and destroyed him when he tried to follow - made the university kick him out, took away all he had and in one second a good student became a homeless guy with a guitar. Jungkook saw him a lot on some corner he played all the time, and once Kook figured out the boy played not for fun, but for a living, he made him an offer. Taeyong took it.

And although he was always grateful, and seemed even content, there was still that sadness behind his gaze. He just couldn’t find anything that would erase the stain of betrayal and a broken heart. Not until Ten burst into their lives, dropping blood on their carpet and entangling Taeyong in his warmth. Since then, Taeyong finally had started resembling a happy man.

And that’s why Yoongi feels even more like an asshole - his mistake today could’ve cost his brother his happiness. He feels like screaming.

‘Unless you are the one putting the knife into his body,’ Taeyong says, his gaze intense, and his words strong with feeling. ‘You are not at fault.’

‘I am the leader of the crew,’ says Yoongi, slowly, quietly. ‘Ares. It’s on me to protect them. And today my head was a mess, and because of it they got hurt.’

‘I swear to god I will fucking punch you,’ now Taeyong is really mad, his fists clenched and his jaw set. Yoongi doesn’t fool himself, he knows Taeyong will come through with the threat.

They’re looking at each other in silence. Some part of Yoongi, probably the rational one, knows Taeyong’s right. There was no way he could predict the situation. The guy lunged at him, but Yoongi parred almost on instinct and was ready to pull out his own knife when he saw Ten in the corner of his eye with his gun out. Yoongi blocked the guy that attacked him, but there were three more - and they got to Ten. Mark and Johnny dealt with them while Yoongi quickly cut the artery on the first one, but not before they simultaneously got Ten from two sides. It was almost comical - how he choked and fell to his knees.

He’s fine now, Yoongi reminds himself. Resting and alive.

Taeyong sighs.

‘Please, stop overthinking it.’

Yoongi looks at him for a second, thinking what he would’ve done if Ten didn’t make it. What he would say to his brother. He sighs too. That’s another reality and another timeline, and he’d thankfully avoided it.

‘Alright. Sorry,’ he brings his hand to Taeyong’s neck, wrapping his palm around it and squeezing lightly. ‘Mother hen.’

‘Oi!’ Taeyong tries to look offended, but there’s light in his eyes. And relief.

‘I’ll go check up on that idiot,’ Yoongi rises and takes off his jacket, still dirty and with splashes of blood on it. Oh fuck, it’s a bitch trying to get those off, but he consoles himself with the thought that it could be worse.

‘All right, but please kick him if he’s not lying still,’ Taeyong asks, rubbing his eyes. ‘His stitches need to stay intact.’

‘Sure,’ Yoongi says, already by the door when a thought comes to his mind along with the image of big eyes and the smell of grapes. ‘Hey, that Jimin kid. He good?’

Taeyong frowns and stills like it was the last thing he expected to hear. He clears his throat. His knuckles are stained with dried blood. There’s a surgical thread in his hair.

‘I think so. Taehyung trusts him, and it seems that Kook does, too. Why?’

Yoongi shrugs. He doesn’t know what the feeling was, but he knows that when he first saw Jimin, there was a flash in his mind, almost like recognition, and one single thought arose in his mind - that he needs to set the clock to the right time. It just suddenly started to seem wrong that it’s showing the wrong digits. Like it is now the right time.

‘Nothing, forget it,’ he sighs and leaves the room.

Taeyong looks at the door closing, and sighs. He knows there’s something on Yoongi’s mind, has been since they first met, but if he wants to keep it to himself, Taeyong won’t pry.

The room is dark, and the digital clock on Yoongi’s bedside is showing 4:13. God, he could fall asleep right here, but he has a wounded idiot to take care of. Taeyong gets up and leaves the room, softly closing the door behind him as to not disturb the silent atmosphere of the room.

It’s quiet, apart from the soft song that seems to come from nowhere and end everywhere.

III

Taehyung is quiet in his arms, but Jimin knows he’s not sleeping. There is a certain soft sound he makes when he’s deep under, and he’s absolutely silent now. Jimin knows he’s thinking hard.

‘I know why you’re here,’ Tae says, softly and a little childishly. It reminds Jimin of all those times when they were still in elementary school, and he complained about how they made them learn math. ‘But I’m not coming home.’

Jimin sighs. He knew it wouldn’t be easy, but he’s not going to give up so easily. He looks at the dark screen of the TV absentmindedly. He can see their blurred reflection.

‘Tae, sunshine,’ he starts but stops right after. He doesn’t really know how to phrase it in a way that won’t have Taehyung angry. ‘I know it’s hell at home, but you can’t stay here.’

And that’s what he’s been afraid of - Taehyung gets up, his face a little puffy with his skin a little creased where he was pressed to Jimin’s hoody. He looks frustrated, and Jimin gets it, he really does, he just wishes Taehyung would see his side of this.

‘And why’s that?’ He asks, voice rough. He frowns like he really doesn’t understand. ‘My father thinks I’m at yours, and he’s not very upset about it. I’m not very fond of college. People here actually like me and take care of me. And I chose to stay, Chim, they didn’t make me.’

‘Tae—,’ Jimin starts, ready to dispute every argument he just made, but he doesn’t get to finish.

‘No, listen,’ he looks a little frantic now, gripping Jimin’s hand. ‘I’m not stupid. I know a lot of people think I’m still a kid, but I am not dumb.’

‘I know you’re not, love, you’re the smartest person I know.’ And it’s the truth because he always seems to catch and process everything so quickly other people just can’t keep up with him, and the jealousy makes them say awful things.

‘Then you realize I’m not here because it’s convenient or comfortable,’ he chuckles, but it’s dark. ‘And I’m not here just to escape that asshole. No. I’m supposed to be here. Don’t you feel it too? It’s like this place is what everything in my life was leading up to. Come on, Chim, I know you sense it, too.’

Jimin looks at him with a painful expression. He’s trying, he really is, searches his soul for something connecting him to the Underworld, to this point in space and time. He thinks back to when he first saw Jungkook, to that something in his mind, but it has an explanation - he met a dangerous criminal famous all over the city and shook his hand. Anyone would’ve been weirded out.

Then there’s Ares. It seems more right to call him that even in his mind because the name of the god of war fits the picture of a bruised tired man more than a simple ‘Yoongi.’ When he first laid eyes on him, it seemed like something should appear, a memory, a recognition. He wants to just take Taehyung's word for it, but it's hard when he can't find even a tiny feeling of belonging.

‘I really don’t, Tae,’ he says softly. Taehyung looks close to tears, and Jimin wants to kick himself. It’s exactly what he was hoping to avoid. He sighs. Taehyung frowns.

‘Then stay too,’ he grips Jimin’s hand. ‘You’ll see.’

‘You know I can’t,’ now Jimin is the one frowning. ‘I’ve got college and Tony.’

He can guess that Taehyung will grimace before his face makes any movement. Tae never liked Tony, and the feeling is mutual. Tony always said things about Taehyung that made Jimin angry, and he asked him to stop every time, yet his boyfriend kept talking. It was like he saw Taehyung as a threat - to what, Jimin can’t understand still.

‘Look,’ Jimin starts. Little things. ‘I’m not asking you to break up with him.’

‘Good, because I won’t.’ His face is stern, and it makes Jimin sigh. Of course.

‘Once again, that’s not what I’m asking. But you can’t live here. It’s dangerous at the least.’

His mind flashes back to the wounded men that came before, and the bullet holes he saw on the door. Multiple, deep, and some fresh, bullet holes.

‘I’m not coming back to my father’s,’ Taehyung says fiercely, and Jimin shakes his head.

‘I know, I don’t want that either.’ He braces himself for the thought he’s about to bring to life. He’s been thinking about it hypothetically, but now it seems that he doesn’t have a choice. ‘But what would you say if I told you that we could live together?’ he says, trying to predict Tae’s reaction. ‘We’ll rent an apartment. I can afford it for the both of us, and you can get a job if you want.’

Taehyung seems still, thinking it over. Jimin observes his face, and he can practically see Taehyung calculating everything.

‘What about college?’ He asks, and Jimin fights off a smile. Baby steps.

‘It’s up to you, I won’t make you do something you don’t want to,’ he starts. ‘But. I still think it would be useful for you to have a degree. Just in case.’

Just in case you boyfriend gets killed off and his empire crumbles. Or he gets bored of playing family with you. Or your father brings them all down.

Things like that.

Taehyung is silent again. Jimin worries his lip, trying not to show how much he wants Taehyung to agree. He doesn’t want to be too controlling, but he still wishes Tae would see that he always has options, no matter how much he doesn’t like them. God, maybe Jimin has mother hen tendencies after all.

‘I don’t know,’ Taehyung finally sighs, and Jimin mirrors that.

‘I think you should listen to Jimin,’ a voice from behind them says, and Jimin whips around, startled.

Jungkook stands in the doorway, his hands crossed over his chest, his face serious. There’s a smear of blood on his palm, probably Ten’s. Ares is standing beside him, his gaze on Jimin’s face. It makes him angry for some reason, and he turns away, looking at Taehyung. There’s some strange, soft expression on his face when he’s looking at Jungkook. It’s weirding Jimin out. It’s like they’re communicating without words. If they already have this bond after a couple of months, what will come next?

‘You think?’ Taehyung wonders, his expression thoughtful.

Jungkook comes closer, putting his hand on Taehyung’s shoulder. He looks at Jimin apologetically.

‘We didn’t mean to eavesdrop, I apologize,’ he says quietly. Ares is a silent presence beside him, and although Jimin isn’t looking at him, he still feels him. He doesn’t like it. He wants to scrape him off of his skin, ask him to stay away. Ares is bad news, and he doesn’t want to have anything to do with him.

'I think Jimin's idea is a very sound one,' Jungkook resumes, looking at Tae now. 'I love having you here, and the Underworld will remain your home for as long as you choose to call it such. But it is dangerous here for now.'

'For now?' Jimin scoffs, unable to keep himself from a disbelieving look.

'Yes,' it's Ares, and Jimin starts a little, but still keeps his gaze on Jungkook. He doesn't want to look at Ares, and he will put it off for as long as he can. 'For now. What happened today wasn't just an unlucky occurrence. Things like that have been disrupting our lives for the past couple of weeks.'

Jungkook looks at him, frowning a little. Jimin notices how he tends to bite the inside of his lip. He wonders if it ever bleeds.

'Someone is trying to undermine us,' Ares continues, and Jimin feels him shift and put his hand on the bandage on his chest. 'And there's only one player big enough to dare.'

'It's not Zeus,' Jungkook interrupts, his worried expression morphing into a determined one. 'I know we had a lot of disagreements in the past, and we still do, but he would never try and hurt us. We're family. A fucked up and cruel one, yes, but still a family nonetheless.'

Ares sighs. He smells of magnolias. Jimin turns further away.

'I'm not saying he's necessarily the man behind this. But he must know something,' Jimin hears him chuckle. 'If not him, then Mnemosyne. The guy always seems to be aware of everything.'

'That's not the point now, but you’re right about Seokjin. We'll discuss it later,' Jungkook rubs his eyes. Jimin appreciates him trying to move on from the topic - the less he knows, the easier it will be to leave.

'It still correlates to it not being safe for Taehyung to be here,' Ares says quietly, and Jimin can't help but agree, no matter how much he doesn't like the man.

'Yes,' Jungkook nods. He looks at Taehyung again, leaning in and kissing him softly on the forehead. 'I would be so much calmer if you were far away from the headquarters for a little while.'

'I hate sleeping without you,' Tae says, looking up, and intertwining their fingers.

Jimin wants to scream. They managed just fine until two months ago, and now Jungkook is somehow in the center of Taehyung's universe. It makes his blood boil. He wants Taehyung to be happy, but what if he's condemning himself to a life of crime and constant loss? Jimin grits his teeth.

'I'm sorry, love,' Jungkook replies, brushing his face with his fingers. 'I'll try to visit as often as I can, but it's unsafe.'

Jimin tries very hard to focus on the pattern of the couch. It depicts some old trees with beautiful flowers that are frozen in a state of almost-blooming. It reminds him of something.

'Jimin,' Jungkook turns to him, and Jimin makes himself focus on his face. 'Allow me to choose and pay for your apartment.'

Jimin wants to refuse right away, but something stops him. He can afford it, and even pay for both of them, but it would be a great help, and with all the money Jungkook has, it won't be a bother for him. And still - it will mean depending on the Underworld, having ties to them, and he's not sure he can agree to that.

'Can I think about it?' He inquires, hearing Ares chuckle. What a dick.

'Of course,' Jungkook nods. 'But whatever you decide, I will still assign someone to keep guard at all times. They won't bother you, but it will make me calmer to know someone from my crew is watching over you.'

Jimin knows that he will lose this battle, so he doesn't even start it. He nods curtly and turns back to Taehyung, noting how sad his friend looks. Jimin sighs and scoots closer, wrapping his arms around his middle and hugging him close.

'Tata, I'm sorry, but it's better this way,' he whispers. Taehyung is like a brother to him, and he will always, _always_ try to protect him. 'I promise we'll be fine.'

He even starts believing it himself. Yes, there's still a giant armed gang elephant in the room, but at least he'll get Taehyung away from here. His plan is slowly coming alive, and he allows himself to hope that nothing will go wrong.

Ares clears his throat and comes closer - Jimin feels the air shift from where he's standing near the couch.

'I'd like to volunteer to be the lookout.'

_Oh, for fuck's sake._

III

Jimin angrily kicks the curb and pulls out a pack of cigarettes he’s stashing in his bag. Tony doesn’t like smoking, but Jimin has been sneaking a cig or two since he was fourteen, so fucking sue him if he needs to calm down.

Everything is otherwise perfect, but he wants to growl at the prospect of Ares being around all the time.

It’s only been a few hours, but somehow in the span of them, his slight wariness of Ares turned to the flaring rage. He hates the man, can’t even look at him; and with every second it gets stronger, consuming him like fire. He knows it’s irrational because Ares never did anything to him personally, and Jimin couldn’t care less about other people he’d hurt, but something in the blonde man’s face tells Jimin he needs to stay away. Something dangerous is lurking under there, and Jimin needs to pull out before it breaks free.

The weird thing, though, is that he feels like in a way he understands Ares. It’s like when he can make himself look into his eyes, he knows what the man is thinking and why he does it in a particular way. Coupled with the irrational annoyance he brings out in Jimin, it’s all unsettling.

Jimin angrily lights the cigarette, almost burning himself, and takes a deep drag, feeling the smoke go down to his lungs, burning to the point he almost coughs.

‘You should be careful with that,’ comes a slow voice, and Jimin wants to snarl. ‘Your pretty face will turn all wrinkly if you keep smoking.’

He’s having one himself - Jimin feels it. Sees a little orange circle in the air in the corner of his eye. It’s dark, probably the dawn is coming soon, and Jimin can feel chills down his hands. He takes another drag and ignores Ares.

‘Why do I annoy you so?’

Maybe, he can feel Jimin with the same intensity. Maybe, he’s just very perceptive. Maybe, Jimin just can’t hide his emotions well.

‘Aucune idée.’ Jimin grits out. He really has no clue.

Ares steps closer. The flames of anger in Jimin grow stronger. He can't understand what it is, but something deep inside of him screams to run away, to despise the man, to destroy him.

'Please, stay away,' he breathes out, unable to keep the anger out of his voice.

He looks up. Ares has listened to him and doesn't move, but he keeps looking, head inclined, lips pursed, a calculating expression in his eyes.

'You hate me.' It's not a question, it's a statement, and Jimin wants to agree. Yet he doesn't. Why can't he?

'I feel you,' he answers instead, but it sounds wrong, unclear, with double-meaning, and the last thing he wants for Ares to think is that Jimin is attracted to him or something.

Ares keeps assessing him, and Jimin frowns.

_Please, look away, please, don't torture me so._

Jimin doesn't know whether his thoughts are obvious on his face, or Ares just gets tired, but he averts his eyes. Jimin breathes more easily.

'Don't you find it strange?' Ares says, voice quiet and-- sad? 'That you don't know me but at all, and you already despise me?'

It's not strange, it's only natural, Jimin thinks.

'You're a criminal. A murderer.'

It's quiet, and he takes a drag. Smoke still burns. He touches his throat, feeling the distant memory of choking hands, and swallows. He feels his Adam's apple and his skin, and it's fine. He's fine.

'You seem to get along with Jungkook well enough, though,' Ares says. Jimin isn't looking at him anymore, but he still knows Ares sighs. 'And he's no better than me.'

That's true, and maybe that's the reason Jimin is so annoyed. Nobody in here seems to affect him as much as Ares does, and he wants to scream out in frustration. Why?

'You know what I think?' Ares goes on, and Jimin wants him to ( _shut up shut up shut up_ ) explain everything. 'I've been waiting for something lately. It's a long story, but the thing is that it was supposed to start awhile ago. In a way it did, yet not for me.'

What the hell is he talking about? Was he waiting for Taehyung to meet Jungkook, was predicting it? That’s some mystical bullshit, and Jimin doesn’t believe in myths.

‘And now it did?’ He doesn’t know why he asks, why he cares, why he keeps talking. Half of his cigarette is still unsmoked, and he can’t bring himself to put it out this early.

‘Yes.’

Jimin chuckles. This whole night is ridiculous and surreal. He looks up. The sun is slowly starting to show its light, a barely visible red line over the river. He sighs. It reminds him of something, but he can’t figure out what. His head will start aching soon from all the shit he can’t put his finger on, and it makes him feel tired. Is it supposed to be this way?

‘Tell me this,’ Ares says and comes closer. Jimin flinches. His skin tingles. ‘Do you have a possession you can’t explain?’

Jimin frowns and looks at his face, trying to suppress an odd animalistic urge to scowl. Ares looks hopeful. For what?

‘What do you mean?’ Jimin asks, realizing that this time he’s actually interested.

‘I have this watch,’ Ares says, showing his hand and the wristwatch on it. ‘Don’t remember how I got it. Don’t know why I always wear it. It never worked. Until two months ago.’

Jimin’s gaze is fixed on the watch. It’s still too dark to see it properly, but he thinks he can recognize the hands moving steadily.

‘That’s just a coincidence,’ he says, but his voice is weak. It’s strange. The seed of doubt is planted in his mind, and still, he doesn’t want to believe Taehyung’s words about destiny and shit like that.

‘I thought so, too,’ Ares says. Steps closer. They’re now separated by a couple of feet and the smoke from Jimin’s cigarette. He takes a drag and blows out to create even more of a curtain between them. _Stay away_. ‘But then you appeared. And it all started making sense.’

His head starts aching after all, and Jimin rubs his temples. He feels suddenly too hot, nevermind the morning chill.

He hears the watch. It’s too loud, it’s not supposed to be this way. Nothing is supposed to be this way. He regrets stepping food in this place.

God, he wants to run away.

‘That’s bullshit,’ he grits out. ‘I don’t know what you’re taking around here, and what do you feed Taehyung, but you’re all delusional.’

Ares laughs. Jimin looks up disbelievingly, but his ears didn’t deceive him - Ares is laughing, loudly, brightly, with his gums showing and his face slightly upturned. He looks mesmerizing, but in a way that makes Jimin think it’d be a perfect moment to slit his throat. If only he knew how. If only he had a blade.

'You're funny,' Ares says. He wipes at his lips; Jimin wants to split them.

'I'm angry,' he retaliates, but it sounds weak now that the darkness is stepping away, taking the flames inside of him with it.

'Figures,' Ares steps even closer, and now Jimin feels his breath on his cheek. He leans closer, his hair brushing Jimin's skin, his lips near his ear. 'You broke your promise, beautiful.'

It sends some primal urge to scream down his veins, but he doesn't have time to react, because there is suddenly a third voice from the entrance to the alley.

'Yoongi?'

Jimin turns his head, trying to breathe. Ares' words are still ringing in his ears, and he tries to focus on the newcomer. The guy is all clad in leather, but the thing that really gives away his affiliation with the Underworld is the way he's looking at Ares - devotion, unabashed trust, and readiness to protect him evident in his gaze. Jimin would snort if he could move.

'Selene,' Ares says, and finally, finally, moves away. 'This is Jimin. Taehyung's friend.'

The guy moves closer, and if there was some animosity before, it's gone now that he sees that Jimin is not a threat.

‘Jimin,’ The guy steps closer, offering his hand. ‘I’m Taeil. I watch guard around the Underworld at night. Taehyung told me all about you.’

Jimin chuckles quietly. Of course, he did. Is there anyone around here who isn’t already aware of Jimin? He puts the back of his head against a wall and sighs.

‘Nice to meet you,’ he says quietly, not taking Taeil’s hand. He is not. Here. To make. Friends. Why are they all being so nice?

He still feels Ares.

Jimin puts out his cigarette, and steps away from the wall.

‘Please, tell Taehyung I’ll wait for him in college on Monday,’ he addresses Ares without actually looking at him. His mind feels like a burning mess, and he doesn’t want to risk looking at the man that causes it. ‘We’ll figure out the logistics then.’

He puts his hands in the pockets of his hoodie and starts walking away, desperate to get away, to leave the territory of the people who see themselves as gods. He’s not a part of them, and he doesn’t want to be. The sun is warm on his back, and he’s exhausted.

‘Aphrodite.’ The voice is low, but Jimin feels it in his bones, and something inside of him flares up again, ready to fight, defend, protect.

He stops in his tracks but doesn’t turn around. He doesn’t want to follow the name, doesn’t want to accept it, doesn’t want to see Ares’ face.

‘You’ll see,’ Ares says, and Jimin grits his teeth.

Jimin takes a step that brings him out of the Street, and it feels like even breathing is easier on the other side. He looks back and sees Yoongi and Taeil stand side by side, the sun illuminating their forms and making them glow.

‘I’m not an Aphrodite, Yoongi,’ he says quietly. He knows Yoongi will hear. ‘And I will never be. How could I ever?’

He turns away without a second thought and walks away.

He’s probably imagining it, but he thinks there’s a soft laugh following him. It makes him want to scream.

↹

As he looks upon his lover's restful face, it occurs to Aphrodite that there never really was another way the things could happen. The paths had always led them to each other.

There are scars on Ares' hands, and only some of them are fresh. He is an ancient deity, like all of them are, yet Aphrodite feels like a young boy first in love, for it is his truth - Ares is his one and only love, and he wishes to never part from him.

The blade Ares had gifted him with is still cold on his chest, but he doesn't mind. Ares' hands are cool on his burning skin, and it takes his breath away.

Ares touches his face like he is afraid to destroy it, and Aphrodite smiles, thinking about how the cruelest of them all, the bloodlusted monster they paint him to be, can be as gentle as the rose petal. His lips taste of smoke, and his hands are rough from wielding the sword, but his embrace feels like home, and his fingers feel like the wind in his hair.

And Aphrodite lays upon his chest, tracing all the battle scars with his fingers, and thinking that there isn't a path in the universe that wouldn't lead them to each other, there is no reality where they don't find each other, and there is no world where their strings of fate aren't entwined.

He can never let this go, he thinks. How is he supposed to deprive himself of the only thing that keeps him breathing? He smiles. No, he could never.

They don't notice Helios watching them from afar, and they don't know how his heart breaks, and they don't realize that he has no choice but to ruin the only thing that brings both of them joy.

Helios looks up at the sky, where his own lover is residing, doing his duty and illuminating the lovers’ entangled forms with his silver light, and he feels a tear roll down his cheek.

'Oh, my precious Selene, what shall I do?'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> come yell at me on [twitter ](https://twitter.com/romulusadhara)  
> [come yell at me as anon](https://curiouscat.me/romulusadhara)


	4. IV. malakia.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> trust and dreams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [chapter moodboard](https://twitter.com/romulusadhara/status/1008267479301451776)

_I'll use you as a focal point_

_so I don't lose sight of what I want_

_and I've moved further than I thought I could_

_but I missed you more than I thought I would_

 

↹

 

Helios worries his lip between his teeth and sighs. He needs to tell. He needs to report what he’d seen, or else it will haunt him forever.

‘ _Just be truthful_ ,' Selene had said.

Oh, if only it could be so easy. The god of the sun always sees things that are supposed to be secrets, and he carries a lot of mysteries in his heart, yet he had never been as troubled as he is when he thinks of what he saw when he glanced into the house of newlywed Aphrodite and Hephaestus. He saw two gods entwined in the embrace of passion. He saw love. And yet he saw adultery, the thing even gods frowned upon. Granted, the all-father had more lovers than there are gods in the pantheon, but it always seems as if the rules never apply to Zeus. Would he pay for that, maybe, one day? Nobody knew, but it is obvious as the day is light that what Aphrodite and Ares do is wrong.

He doesn’t judge their love - he is in love with the god he can barely meet with, and he knows how hard it is sometimes. He barely can get a few minutes with Selene, and he would give up anything to have more. So no, he doesn’t judge the feelings the gods share. But he is afraid of what will become of them if the lie gets too much.

He's standing before Hephaestus' workshop now, hesitant to walk in. Will he bring justice by confessing what he knows or will he destroy something beautiful? He has a duty, and that duty is to shine upon the world and illuminate every breathing thing. He sighs again. He can feel the calming presence of Selene's shine. The god of Moon is residing on the night sky, doing his duty. And now, Helios needs to do his.

He knocks on the door, and it opens before him. Hephaestus is finishing up his work, it seems. There are tools scattered about, but the fire is already out.

'Helios, my friend,' Hephaestus calls out, frown on his brows. They've never really liked each other but true friendship is a rare thing among gods.

'Hephaestus,' Helios nods, his voice quiet. He'd never been so unsure of his actions but today, he has to overcome himself. 'There is something you need to know.'

 

 

IV

 

To be completely truthful, Jimin hates college.

He'd never liked the people he goes there with, the professors are annoying little fuckers, and the coursework is a bitch that constantly haunts him. If it wasn't for Taehyung and the socially ingrained stereotype that having a degree opens up a lot of doors for you, he'd have dropped out months ago.

But, alas, he has to attend classes, and write essays, and give presentations, and be the best in the year because no matter how much he hates all of this, he still has to be the best. That's how he was raised by his psychopathic daddy, and that's how he plans to succeed in life.

Thinking about father still makes him swallow. They've put him away five months ago but the memory of the long fingers on his neck is still extremely fresh. He touches his necklace. A little sword still intact even after he used it to save himself from his deranged father. His mother had gifted it to him before she died, and when the hour of the psychotic episode struck, it got tangled in his father's fingers and cut them, forcing him to let go. After that, it's all blurry but Jimin remembers screaming as he hit him around the head with a frying pan. Good times.

Jimin sighs and tries to listen to his Philosophy professor. He's the best at it, of course, and the prof doesn't even suspect Jimin hates his guts, and still, he needs to listen if he doesn't want to fail that essay.

 _‘Do you have a possession you can’t explain_?’

The memory of his voice cuts into his mind like a bucket of cold water. He touches the necklace again. It's bullshit, he _can_ explain it. His mother gave it to him. He always knew where it came from. She said she bought it at some fare when she was pregnant with Jimin, and that it will protect him when she can't. She was right because it saved his life but it all happened in a logical way - it was on his neck when said neck was being strangled, and there is nothing weird about it.

A treacherous thought appears in his mind - a distant memory of how he put it in his pocket, not on his neck, before entering the house, and it somehow ended up where it needed to be, but no. No. He sighs heavily. Yoongi is just a delusional criminal, and there is nothing fateful about it.

His thoughts are interrupted by the door opening. At first, he has no desire to look at the poor late student, but then there's a familiar voice that has him turning his head so fast he hears his neck straining.

'Excuse me, professor,' Taehyung says quietly. His voice, though, has such a deep power that it's heard throughout the auditorium.

'Mr. Kim,' their prof nods, a frown on his face. He's probably wondering where Taehyung was for the last few weeks. Everyone is. 'I'm glad to see you again. Is everything alright with your family?'

Ah, of course. Jimin has been bullshitting his way through all the questions about Taehyung's absence by saying he had a family matter to settle.

Taehyung smiles widely.

'My family is perfect, thank you.' He bows a little and comes up to where Jimin is sitting.

He has a feeling Taehyung's father isn't the family he's talking about, and it makes Jimin clench his fists. He still smiles at Tae, though. If he's here, it means Jimin's plan is slowly working, and if he can't break Jungkook and Taehyung up yet, he'd at least gotten him away from the Underworld.

'Hi,' he says quietly, taking Taehyung's hand under the table and smiling at him. Taehyung squeezes his palm, and it finally makes Jimin feel at ease. 'I'm happy you're here.'

Taehyung breathes in, not taking his eyes off the whiteboard with some dates and names written on it.

'Just figured,' he shrugs slightly, 'That if I'm sticking around in this world, might as well learn something. Besides, I really missed you.'

Jimin smiles, trying to hold back a giggle. Because that's the thing — boyfriends, secrets, nightmares, their shitty lives — it always becomes easier to deal with everything when they're together. Jimin still wears the colorful friendship bracelet they made in sixth grade. Looking at Taehyung's wrist, he's delighted to see that his is also there. It makes him feel very soft, and he refuses to be embarrassed about that.

'But,' Taehyung continues, drawing little invisible patterns on Jimin's inner wrist. 'I'm not going back to dad.'

Jimin nods and scoops closer, bringing his free hand to Taehyung's shoulder. He's wearing a silk black shirt that's too big for his shoulders, and Jimin can guess who it belongs to. He sighs.

'I'll break out the savings, then,' he says. 'We'll rent an apartment, something close to campus.'

Taehyung shakes his head and pulls out two keys out of his pocket.

'Jungkook already found one. It's equally between college and the headquarters.' He looks up and into Jimin's eyes, and Jimin sees the challenge in there.

The most common and dangerous mistake people make when dealing with Taehyung is underestimating him. He seems like a shy quiet person that never sticks out his neck and can't say 'no' to anyone. But that is such bullshit it makes Jimin laugh every time he sees someone mistreat his best friend.

Taehyung is, in a way, a dangerous person. His personality is a fascinating blend of overpowering kindness and mesmerizing vengeance. He never forgives people when they truly wrong him, and he never gives up on someone he cares about. He keeps to himself mostly, but he can knock someone out in one smooth motion. He grew up with a man that always thought himself the weapon of truth and justice yet neglected to be attentive to his own son. He never beat him when he was a child, no, but he did worse - every night he made Taehyung talk about the bad thing he did that day as if doing something ungood was a given. He never gave his son a chance to be good for he always thought him a burden. With age, it became worse for he started forcing Taehyung to study by tying his hand behind his back until he could recite a paragraph perfectly. Jimin hates that man with everything he has, and every bruise on Taehyung wrists, every scrape on his knuckles, every wound on his soul is a reason enough for him to want Taehyung's father destroyed. Something dark and sinister arises in him when he thinks about that man, and he doesn't even want to fight it.

Jimin isn't a violent man, but he can be cruel when he wants to. If he only knew how, he'd slit the man's throat a long time ago, damn the consequences.

Some part of his mind reminds him about the same thought he had when standing in front of Yoongi but it was different. He has reasons to hate Taehyung's father, and with Yoongi it's purely-- physical. Ah. An interesting turn of phrase.

He sighs, taking a key from Taehyung's hand.

He has to be honest - he'd thought about accepting Jungkook's offer, and now it seems he doesn't really have a choice. Taehyung is looking at him like he's waiting for Jimin to argue, and it shows how well they know each other. Taehyung knows Jimin wants to argue, and he probably has a hundred arguments ready.

Jimin is suddenly reminded of all those times they were each other's only support. He thinks about that night in the hospital when Taehyung held his hand and told him he'll protect them both while Jimin is recovering. They both cried then, and Taehyung was the only person he could turn to when his father was taken away. Taehyung helped him find a place to live, never complained about Tony even though Jimin knows they hate each other, and Taehyung, simply, is always there for him.

'Do you trust this?' He asks quietly, holding up a key.

Taehyung doesn't answer right away. He's searching Jimin's face for something, and Jimin isn't sure if he finds it.

'Yes,' he finally answers.

Jimin nods and puts the key in his pocket.

'Then I trust you. Let's move in together.'

 

IV

 

Tony is already waiting for them when they come out of the building. Jimin feels Taehyung tensing up and trying to pull his hand away. He grips it harder, refusing to hide the fact that he's holding his best friend's hand.

'Look who's here.' Tony's smile is tight and so far from genuine Jimin wants to snort. 'You're alive, what a surprise.'

'You're still a jackass, that's not a surprise,' Taehyung deadpans, and Jimin sighs. Just minutes ago he was thinking about Taehyung never voicing his hatred for Tony, and here they are. Maybe, having his own love life made Taehyung think he can judge other people's. He's dating a gang leader, for fuck's sake, like he's the one to talk.

'You've become braver,' Tony tilts his head, a calculating expression on his face. Jimin doesn't like it.

'Happier,' Taehyung corrects and turn to Jimin. 'I'll meet you at the apartment? Don't forget we'll have company.'

Jimin doesn't understand what he's talking about at first, but then a face appears in his mind, smiling that crooked smile of his that annoys Jimin so, and he sighs.

'How could I forget.'

 _Oh, Aphrodite_.

'I'll meet you there after I take my things from the dorms, 'kay?' He asks and watches how Taehyung departs after throwing one last glance at Tony.

Tony follows his retreating figure for a couple of seconds before turning to Jimin and taking his hand. He's gripping a little too tightly but Jimin just frowns. He's too wound up to spare a thought for Tony's obsessiveness.

'What was he talking about?' Tony asks as they make way through campus towards the dorms.

Jimin swallows, thinking carefully about what to say. It's been a week since his trip down to the Underworld yet he still hasn't told Tony the truth. Should he do it? Should he uncover that he and his best friend aren't so angelic as Tony sees them? Should he confess that he wined and dined with dangerous criminals, one of which is actually a man Taehyung gave his heart to? Where does the necessary lie end, and the betrayal of trust begin? He sighs.

'We're moving in together,' he says simply. Some things are better left unsaid just yet. Like a bunch of assassins Taehyung is playing house with and an ancient murderous asshole that seems to have taken an interest in annoying Jimin to death.

'Interesting,' Tony says, and Jimin can predict his next words by the tension in his voice. 'And for how long have you known you're doing it?'

Jimin stops in his tracks and closes his eyes.

'Literally an hour,' he says quietly. Tony is looking at him a little angrily, and it makes Jimin wants to scream. They're supposed to be in love, support each other and all that shit. He brings his hand up and brushes Tony's cheek. 'I know it's sudden but it has to be done.'

Tony's gaze softens and he intertwines their fingers.

'I'm sorry. Just wish you told me sooner,' he shrugs slightly, and it reminds Jimin of the first time they met. Some frat party Jimin never wanted to go to, and loud music and sticky drinks, and Tony's smile promising to make him stop regretting coming to this party. He wishes he'd see this smile today.

'Sorry,' he shrugs and comes closer, kissing their joint hands. 'But you can help me move my stuff?'

He knows he's manipulating, smiling softly and looking in Tony's eyes way too flirtatiously but they both know it's just a play.

'You know I will, you little shit,' Tony smiles and kisses him. 'I can never refuse you.'

Jimin giggles and starts walking again, dragging Tony behind him.

'How could you ever?' He says with another giggle before realizing what he just said.

He's glad his face is turned away because he suddenly feels like crying instead of smiling.

It seems like he can't go twenty minutes without thinking about Yoongi. It's unsettling, and a little maddening. He can't explain the array of emotions that the man makes him feel, and it's what makes him even madder.

Yoongi had called him an Aphrodite, and no matter how much Jimin despises even the thought of someone like Yoongi labeling him, something in those words rings true to him. He can feel people, and their emotions make a lot more sense to him than his own. He feels like floating most of the time, and the summertime and love excite him as a concept. It doesn't mean anything, of course, for a lot of people are a little elevated and romanticize things around them, and it doesn't make them gods.

'Babe?' He hears Tony call out and realizes that he spaced out. He forces a smile.

'Sorry, got lost a little,' he points to his head to indicate the mess of his mind.

Tony smiles and kisses his hair.

'No surprise, that brain of yours is brilliant.'

Jimin smiles widely, hoping his eye-smile will hide the sudden panic that arose in his soul.

Because as he keeps going towards his dorm, his hand holding his loving boyfriend's, a voice keeps calling out to him in his mind. It seems to come from nowhere and end everywhere, and it calls him a name he doesn't want to accept, a name that isn't his, a name that isn't right.

_Oh, Aphrodite._

And yet, his soul, trembling with the strangest wonder, wants to answer so badly that he barely catches himself before answering to him, and calling upon the god of war.

 

 

IV

 

He feels hot breath on his face, burning his skin where his tears have made a streak from his eyes to his chin.

'Dad, please,' he pleads but his father doesn't hear him.

He's gripping Jimin's hair so tightly Jimin feels some of it being ripped out. To hell with it, he'll gladly go bald if it means his father lets go of him. He doesn't even know what he did wrong, honestly, and it seemed there weren't any triggers.

He just asked to pass him fucking salt, and father flipped out and came at him with a fork. Jimin feels the burning wound in his side where the utensil got stuck. It probably isn't his biggest problem, seeing as his father is now holding his neck, squeezing tightly.

Jimin thinks he hears screams but he himself can't make a sound. He sees stars and thinks that maybe it's a good way to go - killed by your own father, a psychotic man that never seemed to exhibit any signs of being a murderer.

It was just some salt.

_Let go._

He feels soft hands on his back and on his face but he still can't breathe. He feels something cold on his chest but doesn't have time to focus on it. There are lips near his ear. He smells magnolias.

_Oh Aphrodite, my love, just let go._

Whose voice is it? Why does it tell him to let go? If he lets go of his father's hands, he'll be one step closer to dying, and all poetic thoughts aside, he is not ready to go yet. Something about the big purpose and things like that. The voice laughs, and somehow it soothes Jimin's wildly beating heart. Soft hands are now hugging him from behind.

_I will protect you, sunshine. You just need to let go._

He doesn't want to listen, but his mind is slowly losing itself in the darkness and his hands are too weak to fight.

Jimin lets go, his hands falling to his sides. He hears his father's raspy voice breathe out curses, and he thinks that's it's a terrible sound to die to.

Suddenly, there's a scream, and he coughs wildly, finally being able to breathe again. He falls to the floor, curling in on himself, suddenly so tired and exhausted. His throat burns, and his head aches, and he just wants to sleep. He doesn't mind the tears that won't stop coming. They remind him he's still alive. He clenches his fists and brings them to his chest trying to feel if his heart is still beating. It is a wild and somehow funny feeling under his fingers.

The last thing he sees before passing out is his necklace lying beside him, the sword's blade stained with blood.

 

Jimin wakes up in cold sweat, startled by the unfamiliar environment. It takes him a minute to realize that this is his new room, in his new apartment, the one he shares with Taehyung, and the one Taeyong is keeping guard of. Yoongi will start watching them tomorrow, and Jimin doesn't know how he feels about that.

He swallows, still feeling the fingers on his neck.

He doesn't remember the last time he had a dream that didn't feature his father.

Jimin rarely remembers the details, and just like always - he only remembers the feeling of choking and a fall. He sobs.

He reaches out yet doesn't find the hand he so desperately needs to hold. His bed is empty, and so is, he comes to realize, his heart.

 

 

IV

 

It’s liberating.

Hitting, again and again, feeling the gloves leave marks on his knuckles, the sweat tickling his brow, loud music hitting his ears. He’s focused. He’s imagining someone in the stead of the punching bag, but he can’t understand who.

He’s thinking about Jimin. Lately, he always does. They’ve met exactly once a week ago, and yet Yoongi keeps finding the image of the blonde boy in his mind. He’s not ordinary, he’s one of them in the sense of belonging to the world outside of the real, and no matter how hard he denies it, Yoongi knows. _He knows_.

It just all makes sense, he thinks. Jimin is here and not here at the same time, and it’s the same weird feeling Yoongi got every time he met someone from his current circle.

Except for one person. There was always someone who was definitely not from here, always floating in his own world, watching and observing, held here only by a thin metaphorical thread connecting him to his— boss, friend, lover, nobody’s sure.

Yoongi knows Seokjin is watching him. Has been for the last ten minutes. He’s ignoring the man in favor of letting off some steam because there’s a possibility he’ll get the urge to hit Seokjin, and they can’t have that in the current state of things.

‘You fight with the same fierceness, Ares.’

Seokjin steps out of the shadows, smiling softly.

‘You’ve never seen me fight,’ Yoongi says, knowing beforehand that Seokjin will ignore it. He always does.

‘I have a bone to pick with you.’ Seokjin touches the ropes that surround the ring almost with disgust. He never liked fighting, but Yoongi knows for a fact he can murder everyone in this room in under two minutes without breaking a sweat. Seokjin is an enigma wrapped in a creepy riddle, and every time Yoongi thinks he’s figured him out, there’s something new. He should’ve given up on trying to understand Jin a long time ago but he’s never been the one to turn away from a challenge.

'Me too,' Yoongi says, taking off his gloves and stepping off the ring. He wipes his forehead with a towel and gesture for Seokjin to follow him to the changing rooms. 'Who is behind recent turmoils in the net? Your people are the only ones powerful enough to try and challenge the Underworld but I really hope Zeus hasn't decided to go against his brother.'

Seokjin laughs darkly. He looks extremely out of place in this dingy old gym, what with his expensive suit and even more expensive face expression. He looks around with a slight curve to his mouth that demonstrates just how much he despises Yoongi’s favorite place to work out and let off steam.

‘I always loved how you never beat around the bush,’ Jin says when he’s done with judging every bench in here. ‘And that’s actually what I came to talk about. Your people aren’t the only ones feeling rebellious.’

He picked an interesting word, Yoongi thinks. They’re not rebels; they’re idiots, and normally Yoongi wouldn’t care but it’s the first time so many people suddenly decide to break so many rules. He’s getting tired of drugging bodies around.

‘We lost four dealers,’ Seokjin continues. ‘And that’s just this month. It’s outrageous.’

‘Were they breaking the rules too?’ Yoongi wonders.

‘Yes, but the strange thing is that they all had one reason,’ Seokjin frowns. Yoongi notices how every time he’s getting lost in thought he’s touching the brim of his spectacles like it helps him think. ‘We’ve had enough.’

Yoongi stops wiping his neck with a towel and looks up.

‘Sounds familiar.’

Seokjin nods.

‘Also sounds like something one would say to a person to make them attack their master.’

‘Like an old movie villain speech. _You only think you’re free when in reality they control you. Didn’t you have enough_?’ He recites some old film Taeyong’s made them watch the other day.

‘Exactly.’ Seokjin agrees. ‘I know everything that happens on both sides of the river, Yoongi. But I do not know what is going on, and I hate that.’

Yoongi almost wants to laugh because it feels incredible. The fact that Seokjin is finally the one lost! Ah, what wouldn’t he give to have his phone on him to take a picture of Jin’s perplexed face.

They don’t have time to petty, though.

‘I propose a joining of forces,’ Seokjin says in the meantime, and Yoongi steps closer.

‘You propose, or Namjoon does?’ He wonders because whoever really understands their way of business knows that there is, indeed, a difference.

‘Whatever Namjoon wants, I do,’ Seokjin says with a challenge in his voice. ‘And this time we both really think it’s a good idea.’

It’s Seokjin’s, then. If there’s something Yoongi is sure about in regards to Namjoon and Jin’s relationship, it’s the fact that Seokjin can change the course of Namjoon’s thinking in a heartbeat. They just work like that, and probably love like that - in their own strange, yet still captivating, way. Seokjin is Namjoon’s shadow and at the same time, he is the sun that allows that same shadow to exist.

‘I’ll pass it to Jungkook,’ Yoongi nods. He already knows what the answer will be, but the three of them still have to discuss it like a family.

‘Thank you,’ Jin nods but takes no move to leave. Yoongi almost sighs. ‘How are your dreams?’

It’s getting boring, truly.

‘Splendid, thank you,’ Yoongi turns away and starts undressing to go the shower.

‘He’ll make them go away, you know.’

He almost ignores it because it seems now that Seokjin has fulfilled his initial mission of coming here, he’s back to being his cryptic self.

He almost does.

Yet he turns around, curious against his wishes.

‘What?’

‘You know,’ Seokjin shrugs. There’s a smile on his face that reminds Yoongi why exactly this man is called Mnemosyne. God of memory and father of the Muses. A glorious multi-talented fucker that never forgets.

‘I don’t.’

Yoongi looks into his calm eyes, and the words keep ringing in his head.

‘He’ll come around,’ Seokjin says, pulling out his phone. ‘Just give him some time.’

Yoongi knows they’re talking about Jimin; he’s fucking positive, yet he wishes Seokjin would say his name out loud. It would make everything real.

‘Seunghyun, I’m ready to go,’ Jin says after dialing and turns to leave.

‘Seokjin,’ Yoongi calls out. He hates to do it, but Jin is the one who seems to be the only one truly belonging to that other world Yoongi keeps dreaming about. ‘Please. Stop being so secretive. Say something else.’

He doesn’t care that he’s practically begging. No matter how strained and strange their relationship is, they are still friends, as much as people can be friends in their kind of life.

Jin sighs and looks down. His spectacles are glinting in fluorescent lights.

‘Like I said,’ he looks up again, his eyes tired and his voice quiet, ‘Give it time.’

He goes to the door and almost leaves when something stops him, and he turns around, leaving one last sentence for Yoongi to think about.

‘After all, you fucked it up once already. Be more patient this time, my friend.’ He sighs again and leaves, only the faint outlines of his voice still reaching Yoongi. ‘I’ll see you on the other side, Ares.’

 

 

IV

 

It feels like he’s falling but Yoongi knows he’s still in his bed. In his head, the fireworks go off, and the earth cranes, and the sky is burning.

He feels someone touching his jaw and kiss it softly, and he knows that this is the kiss he’d been waiting for all his life.

‘Jimin?’ He wonders, the name falling from his lips in a heartbeat. The lips kissing him curve into a smile.

‘Almost,’ his voice is how Yoongi remembers from the alleyway but at the same time - softer, gentler, more angelic. ‘I got tired of waiting. So I came to you.’

Yoongi opens his eyes, afraid of waking up, but the fate is kind to him today - he sees Jimin in his clothes but surrounded by the aura of something from the other world. Yoongi knows the world but, alas, he cannot remember it.

‘I can’t get you to see me,’ he says, his voice whiny. He’s tired, too.

Jimin cooes softly and smiles. It’s different from the cruel one Yoongi keeps seeing whenever he closes his eyes. It’s the smile that brought him to this world, the smile he fell in love with so long ago. When was it? Aish, if only he could remember.

‘Jimin-ah,’ he calls softly. Jimin looks up, his eyes glowing golden. Yoongi sees the dawn in them, and paradise, and infinity. ‘I love you.’

‘I know,’ Jimin nods. He closes his eyes, his lashes so mesmerizing Yoongi can’t look away. He brings his hands up, touching Jimin’s chin. There’s a blush on his cheeks, and it’s so endearing Yoongi’s heart bursts with happiness.

‘When will you come back to me?’ He inquires, not judging or pushing, but wondering. Wondering when he will hold his beloved for real one more time.

Jimin’s face is sad now, and he puts his hands over Yoongi’s. Yoongi hears a song. It’s coming from everywhere and ends nowhere.

‘I’m sorry, my love,’ Jimin says. Quietly. Apologetically. Ah, but he doesn’t have anything to apologize for. ‘It seems that he needs more time. It took me a look and a conversation to fall in love with you.’

Yoongi knows what he’s talking about but the memories escape his grasp, and no matter how much he tries - there’s nothing. Only emptiness, and loneliness, and longing.

‘It will take him more than that,’ Jimin continues. ‘Just don’t stab him, all right?’

They laugh quietly, and Yoongi looks behind Jimin’s shoulder. There are shadows coming. He can’t let them take him, not yet.

‘I swear I’ll keep you both safe,’ he whispers urgently.

Jimin shakes his head slowly.

‘Maybe, it’s the problem here, my love.’ He takes his hands away and steps back. Yoongi wants to reach out but can’t move. ‘It’s not all about you.’

Shadows are on his shoulders now, and Yoongi can’t breathe. He tries to take a step, but it’s too late - Jimin is almost entirely gone now.

‘I love you for infinity,’ he says as a goodbye. ‘Just let me become him.’

And with that, he disappears.

Yoongi wakes up with no recollection of his dream but with the feeling that he lost something, once again. It’s not new for him but this time there’s a new feeling - soft skin on his, lips on his cheek. He closes his eyes again and sighs.

Maybe, next time he’ll remember.

 

 

↹

 

There are nets around his shoulders, and he wants to scream and reach out for Ares, yet he cannot move. There is laughter, a cruel sound that cuts into his mind like a piece of a sharp seashell.

‘You thought you could fool me?’ An angry voice in his ear, hot breath on his skin, and he feels disgusted and so full of hatred that tears spill out of his eyes and onto his naked body.

‘Step away from him.’

This voice is oh so familiar and dear to him, and he strains to turn his head. Ares is lying near him, as naked and trapped as Aphrodite himself is. It makes him even madder.

Hephaestus laughs again and kicks Ares. Aphrodite sees the infinite anger in Ares’ eyes and wonders at Hephaestus bravery. He wishes they were free now so that a god Aphrodite despises so much could feel the wrath of a god whom he loves.

‘What is going on here?’

Aphrodite can’t see who it is, but he feels humiliation starting to burn his insides. They were caught in the act of love and enveloped in an enchanted net that now cuts into Aphrodite’s skin, and it was awful enough without other gods seeing them like that. He tries to move his hand and feels Ares’ fingers that immediately go to grip his.

Suddenly, the net falls away, and they’re able to breathe easier. Ares stands up, pulling Aphrodite with him and covering them both with his scarlet cape. Aphrodite buries himself in the Ares’ embrace and looks around.

Just beside them stands Poseidon, the Trident in his hands with the remains of the magical nets on its spikes.

‘Thank you, my friend,’ Ares whispers and nods.

Aphrodite can’t appreciate their savior, though, for there are more gods around them. He wishes he still couldn’t see yet now he does, and they’re all here. Helios, Hera, Hermes and Hecate, Mnemosyne, and oh! Hades himself, with Zeus on his heels.

‘Hephaestus, you better have a good reason to have imprisoned your own husband and the god of war,’ he breathes out, his voice dripping with anger.

Aphrodite feels a little grateful to Zeus, for he is obviously mad at the wrong thing, maybe even intentionally trying to distract everyone’s attention.

‘They were committing adultery,’ Hephaestus responds, taken aback. ‘In my own house.’

There’s silence until someone laughs quietly. Aphrodite isn’t surprised to see Hades chuckling softly into his sleeve.

‘Don’t tell me I had to interrupt a walk with Cerberus just because someone forgot where they were while giving themselves into the embraces of passion,’ Hades says, a soft smile still on his lips. Aphrodite notices dark circles under his eyes and wonders whether the god of Hell ever sleeps.

‘Aphrodite,’ Zeus turns to him, his face unreadable. ‘Is this true?’

Aphrodite wants to laugh because he knows, oh he knows, of every little affair Zeus has, and the picture of him judging Aphrodite for being in love with the one he wasn’t betrothed to is as appalling as it is hilarious.

There’s a gush of wind, and in a flurry of flower petals and the smell of roses, Persephone appears, throwing himself onto Aphrodite immediately. Ares allows him to hug his friend but still doesn’t let go of Aphrodite’s hand, and he is grateful. He feels his lovers warmth, and it makes him feel a little bit better.

Persephone leans back and points his finger at Hephaestus.

‘You!’ He almost screams, his beautiful face furious. ‘How dare you trick him again? How dare you think that you have the right to touch even a hair on his head?’

Persephone is so enraged a nearby tree cracks with a loud sound, and a big branch falls to Hephaestus’ feet, barely missing his head.

There’s a soft gasp from behind them, and Aphrodite is surprised to see it’s Hades, but nobody notices it apart from him.

‘He is my husband,’ Hephaestus responds, his arrogant face flaming red. ‘And I have every right to punish him when he dares to cheat on me.’

Poseidon comes closer to Zeus, pointing his trident at his face.

‘You made this happen,’ he seethes, ‘You are to blame.’

He turns away without waiting for a response and takes Ares’ hand.

‘I was going to stay silent,’ he continues without turning around. ‘But this has come too far. Love is what allows us all to exist, love of mortals, and you all cherish it so much, yet when it comes to your children - you disregard it.’

Ares shakes his head and hugs Aphrodite closer. The gods around them are silent, watching this surreal scene with dread.

‘We’ve made a mistake,’ Ares says, and Aphrodite’s heart drops. He finds Persephone’s hand and grabs it, suddenly feeling like his soul is more exposed than his body. He isn’t ashamed of his nudity yet his heart is bleeding.

‘I should’ve confessed a long time ago,’ Ares continues, and Aphrodite looks up, his throat burning. ‘But we don’t choose when we fall in love.’

Zeus closes his eyes, and Aphrodite sees a bright red string that seems to glow more than the rest. He follows it with his eyes to Mnemosyne standing at the back. His eyes are cast down, and Aphrodite wishes desperately that he would help. That they both would help.

‘This is wrong,’ Zeus whispers. ‘You are married, Aphrodite.’

He wants to laugh. Instead, he feels like something inside him breaks just to be replaced with a feeling of having enough.

‘Are you forgetting what I can see, oh the Almighty?’ He says softly and feels his tears dry out. ‘Persephone, my friend.’

Persephone takes his hand, and he sees flower petals envelop them and Ares with Poseidon. The last thing he sees before they disappear is the look on Mnemosyne’s face.

Pain. And determination.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> come yell at me on [twitter ](https://twitter.com/romulusadhara)  
> [come yell at me as anon](https://curiouscat.me/romulusadhara)


	5. V. mount Ida.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> got my cards lined up in a row. up in flames and away we go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: assault attempts, not-very-pleasant-perverted thoughts, nothing too graphic, but be warned.
> 
> [chapter moodboard](https://twitter.com/romulusadhara/status/1022858003572305921%20rel=)

_these angels burn with an eternal sympathy_

_don't say a word until you've heard their symphony_

_I lie awake creating shadows in the night_

_I see the truth through crimson eyes_

 

↹

They arrive at Poseidon’s castle in a flurry of petals and the ocean breeze. It’s obvious they’re underwater as soon as they appear — the throne hall’s windows are protected by a magic bubble that allows them all to breathe yet Aphrodite can see fish and merpeople swimming around in the distance. If he weren’t so agitated, he would’ve taken a minute to admire the beauty of Poseidon’s house — the blue marble and pearls, the walls painted with waves and sea creatures, the huge statue of Kraken that, according to legend, covers the entrance to the cave where the beast itself resides. But alas, his mind is still full of fury and anger at Zeus.

 _‘We_ are wrong?’ He exclaims as soon as he’s wrapped in Ares’ cape fully. The god of war himself has dressed in Poseidon’s robe. ‘ _I_ am married? You should see all the affair strings attached to him! I can’t even count them, and he has the audacity to blame me of being the evil one.’

‘Love,’ Ares says softly, coming closer and covering Aphrodite’s hands with his own. ‘You know he had to said that in front of them all.’

‘Did he?’ Aphrodite screeches, pulling his hands out. He regrets it as soon as he sees a hurt expression on Ares’ face. He’s too agitated to apologize, though. He’s livid. ‘Zeus can do whatever he wants, and the laws don’t apply to him, that much is known.’

‘Yes, brother tends to be hypocritical from time to time,’ Poseidon drawls out. An amphora appears on the table near them, and he gestures to it. ‘Some ambrosia to calm your mind, my friend?’

‘I’ll have some,’ Persephone answers and reaches for the goblet, dawning it in one go.

Aphrodite stops pacing and looks at his friend incredulously.

‘Are you quite alright, my darling?’ He comes closer, noting how pale and shaken up Persephone looks. ‘You don’t usually drink that much in one go.’

Persephone purses his lips and puts a hand through his silver hair.

‘I’m just extremely mad at Zeus. And there are some— Some things happening around me that I cannot explain, and I’m trying to understand them.’ He looks into Aphrodite’s eyes, and there is fear in his look. ‘But tonight is about you, my friend.’

Aphrodite frowns and wants to press further but decided against it — perhaps, Persephone doesn’t want to talk about whatever’s bothering him in front of Ares and Poseidon.

‘We will talk about it later?’ He offers, kissing his friend’s palm — their old gesture of friendship and reassurance.

‘I promise,’ Persephone says with a tiny smile.

Be it the distraction or the warm touch of his friend's skin, but Aphrodite feels himself calm down. He turns back to Ares and beckons him with his hand.

‘I’m sorry, my love,’ he says quietly when Ares is near and holding his waist. ‘I didn’t mean to push you away. How could I ever?’

Ares smiles and looks at him with the same gaze that made Aphrodite fall in love with him.

‘It is fine, Aphrodite,’ he murmurs. ‘But we still need to address this issue. We can’t just hide out here forever.’

‘I don’t mind,’ Poseidon calls out from behind them where he’s already sprawled over his throne. Aphrodite envies his ability to switch moods so quickly.

‘I’m sure it would be extremely amusing to live with you, Poseidon, but no,’ Aphrodite huffs. ‘Ares is right. I have to talk to Zeus.’

‘Why him?’ Persephone asks. The ambrosia has given his pale cheeks a tinge of red and his eyes a glow. ‘Why not Hephaestus?’

Aphrodite grits his teeth at the same time Ares does.

‘I refuse to let you anywhere near him,’ Ares says, his nostrils flaring.

‘You don’t control me, my love, don’t forget.’ Aphrodite coos. ‘But don’t worry. I won’t face that abomination for as long as I’m breathing.’

Persephone sighs and puts his head on Aphrodite’s shoulder.

‘I’m so sorry it turned out this way, my dear,’ he says quietly, and his breath ghosts over Aphrodite’s exposed shoulder. ‘But I will help as much as I can to get you out of that marriage.’

Aphrodite smiles and strokes his friend’s cheek.

‘For now, I just need you to hold Ares from unleashing his wrath on every unsuspecting soul.’ He looks up and into the eyes of his love. ‘My beloved has quite a temper. That’s why I’m going to Zeus alone.’

‘I don’t like it,’ Ares shakes his head. ‘I’m not trying to order you something, Aphrodite, but I don’t think it’s safe for you to go alone.’

‘I’ll come back to you soon, my love.’ Aphrodite smiles and gives him a kiss on a cheek. ‘I promise.’

‘You should be careful,’ Poseidon calls out. ‘Brother may not touch you but Hephaestus, as nasty as he is, has friends. And how are you planning on convincing Zeus to terminate the marriage, anyway?’

Aphrodite thinks about the red strings, and Hera, and the look on Mnemosyne’s face as they were leaving Hephaestus house, and the power coursing through his own veins, and smiles.

‘I have a few aces up my sleeve.’

 

V

 

‘There’s also a question of safety.’

Yoongi looks up from where he’s cleaning his gun and frowns.

‘You don’t think we’ll be safe on Zeus’ grounds?’

Taeyong sighs and rubs his eyes. There are dark circles under them, and he looks pale and exhausted. Ten’s gotten better, but he still wants to get up whenever he can while Taeyong refuses to let him. It’s been taking a toll on both of them.

‘I’m not eliminating this possibility,’ Taeyong says diplomatically.

‘Do you eliminate the possibility of Namjoon’s people attacking us?’ Jungkook asks from where he’s sitting next to Yoongi, watching him work.

Yoongi looks up, brow arched.

‘You don’t trust your brother?’

‘Do you?’ Kook chuckles. Yoongi shrugs. Good point.

‘Look, for now, we just need to decide who’s going,’ he says, pulling out his phone and opening a text chain with Hermes. ‘Because we are, right? We’re meeting with them?’

‘Of course,’ Kook confirms, rubbing his chin. ‘We need to find and contain the threat before we have a relapse.’

‘Somehow, I don’t remember the chaos of Cronus’ death,’ Taeyong says, frowning.

‘The civilians weren’t affected in the ways all of them noticed,’ Yoongi explains. ‘You probably weren't on the dark side of the towns back then. Namjoon got the control by the time you showed up and the Agreement was signed.’

‘It’s been so long,’ Kook says, a faraway look in his eyes. ‘Seven? Eight years?’

‘Four.’ Yoongi frowns.

‘Yeah, I mean,’ he chuckles, ‘Since dad died.’

‘Nine, then,’ Yoongi clarifies. ‘I still remember the day the fucker kicked it. I’ve never seen Namjoon that happy.’

He would never bring this topic out with anyone else, but the three of them are a family, and he trusts them with his life and more.

‘I don’t remember what I felt, to be honest,’ Jungkook confesses, worrying his lip. ‘But it wasn’t sorrow, that’s for sure.’

Yoongi stays silent, looking at his phone but not seeing.

Cronus was not a good man. Cruel, calculating, self-absorbed to a point it destroyed him when nobody helped when the illness hit.

There are barely a few people who still know his real name. His sons, most probably Seokjin, Lisa and Taemin, and—

‘What happened to Jennie?’ He wonders out loud before realizing his mistake. He looks up and sees Jungkook’s look harden.

‘I don’t know,’ he says quietly. His fists are clenched. ‘But I know that dad was somehow responsible for her disappearance. She was always his favorite. Figures it’d be what kills her.’

‘You think she’s died?’ Taeyong wonders. He wasn’t around when she was still the part of the extended family, but he’d heard stories.

‘It’s been years.’ Jungkook shrugs. He looks up, and his eyes are blank once more. ‘If she were alive, she’d have resurfaced when he died. But, alas.’

They’re silent again, and Yoongi watches as Jungkook takes to cleaning Yoongi’s gun. His movements are calculated, and the curve of his lips tells Yoongi the topic is closed. He’s not a brilliant man, but he’s smart enough to know when not to pressure the Hades. In these moments — when he’s angry or agitated — he looks so much like his father that even Ares feels something akin to dread.

‘Anyway.’ He remembers what started this conversation. ‘Hermes will be here in twenty. Just texted me.’

He shows his phone and drops it on the table, a multi-emojied and capsed message still visible.

‘Are you coming to the meeting?’ Jungkook looks up at Taeyong. ‘You’re my left hand.’

‘I don’t know.’ Taeyong frowns. ‘Ten is still recovering, and I don’t want to leave his side.’

‘Take him with us.’ Yoongi shrugs but then a thought crosses his mind, and he exhales. ‘Oh. Triple H.’

‘Yeah,’ Taeyong sighs.

‘Their club takes up thirty percent of Namjoon’s income.’ Jungkook nods. ‘I’m positive they’re going to be there even if the club hasn’t been hit.’

‘Not that I know of.’ Taeyong closes his eyes. ‘But Ten is still... I don’t think he’s ready to see them.’

Yoongi remembers that time he heard Ten’s story, about six months ago, when they were running some errands near _Triple H_ , the elite club on Olympus’ grounds, and ran into its owners.

At first, Yoongi didn’t even realize what was happening when Hyuna suddenly jumped on Ten and started crying, but it became obvious as Hyojong joined his sister, and after him — Hwitaek, awkwardly putting his hand on Ten’s shoulder.

_‘I thought you were dead,’ Hyuna said then, her voice trembling and her eyes full of tears. ‘I thought he killed you.’_

_‘He tried to,’ Ten whispered, his gaze unreadable but his hands gripping Artemis’ waist. ‘I didn’t know you’re in charge now.’_

_Hyuna stepped away then, nodding. Hyojong refused to let go of Ten’s hand, but it seemed too hard for him to speak._

_‘I slashed his throat.’ Came from Dionysus’ side. Yoongi looked at Hwitaek and the way his hand kept reaching out for Apollo, and it all made sense. He knew the owners of_ Triple H _only came into its possession a few months ago, and before it was run by a man so psychotic that Hades refused to deal with him. Only now, when the rumors of more sane owners reached the Underworld, did they reach out to Olympus to establish some deals._

_Ten chuckled upon hearing Hwitaek’s confession and nodded bitterly._

_‘Why so late, though?’ He asked, but something told Yoongi he already knew the answer._

_‘He tried to come for me,’ Hyojong answered, and Ten let out a breathless laugh. ‘I’m sorry, Ten, please, don’t blame Hwitaek. He would’ve done it earlier if only—’_

_‘If only what?’ Ten asked angrily, and Hyuna whimpered, grabbing her shoulders. ‘If only he tortured and sold the bodies of other kids for years? If only he made me serve his asshole friends from the pits of Hell? If only he treated every other slave of his exactly like he treated the boy Dionysus happened to fall in love with?’_

_The silence settled over them then, and Yoongi held his breath, realizing that this is exactly the moment he needs to stay silent._

_‘Tennie,’ Hyuna started, her voice shaking. ‘We hoped you got away somehow, and we—’_

_‘I ran away,’ Ten interrupted her, voice cold but his gaze softer when he looked at Artemis. ‘He sent one of his dogs after me, and I almost died.’_

_‘Who did he send?’ Hwitaek said, guilt and anger in his eyes._

_‘You don’t have to worry about him anymore,’ Yoongi said for the first time since this conversation started. ‘He was dead within fourteen hours of touching Calaïs.’_

_It seemed like they didn’t even notice him before he raised his voice, and Yoongi found himself pinned down by three gazes, similar in their intensity._

_‘Ares,’ Hwitaek said, inclining his head._

_‘Dionysus,’ Yoongi responded and looked at Ten, whose face was unreadable. ‘I don’t know if Orpheus has told you, but he asked me to take care of the man that almost killed you.’_

_‘I didn’t know,’ Ten answered and nodded. ‘Thank you.’_

_‘Calaïs,’ Hyuna said quietly, the guilt in her eyes now replaced with soft glee. ‘You’ve found home.’_

_‘Family.’ Ten blinked. ‘And they’re taking much better care of me than I ever received in there.’_

_He transferred his gaze to the club, disgust and hurt evident._

_‘It’s not like it used to be,’ Hyojong said. ‘Nobody is forced to do anything they don’t want to. They’re all free to leave whenever they want. They stay out of choice, not force.’_

_‘I’m happy to hear it,’ Ten said, but there was no joy in his voice. Only emptiness._

_‘I’m truly sorry, Tenth,’ Hwitaek said, and immediately there were two gasps from the sun siblings. ‘Shit, I’m sorry.’_

_Yoongi’s thoughts traveled to the tattoo he once saw on Ten when they were training — an ‘X’ on his shoulder-blade. The Tenth. His brothel number._

_‘It’s okay.’ Ten swallowed. ‘I’m not Tenth anymore. And he can’t touch me from beyond the grave.’_

_It seemed more like he was trying to convince himself and not state facts, but Yoongi let it go. The path to recovery isn’t always the easiest thing, but Ten was taking it with strength, and the only thing they all could do was help him stay on it._

_‘I miss you,’ Hyuna said. ‘Please, come visit us sometimes.’_

_‘I’ll— I’ll think about it,’ Ten whispered._

It’s been months since then, but he hasn’t returned to the club once. He told Yoongi after they bid their goodbyes that Uranus, the man in charge of the brothel before it got turned into an elite club, picked him up from the streets when Ten was eleven. Branded him and trained him to be an excellent pleasure host to the darkest and ugliest servers of Cronus with whom they were good friends. The brothel started losing clients after Cronus died and Zeus turned the whole city around, so Uranus became more cruel and demanding, and Ten escaped two years ago only to be tracked down by one of Uranus’ people. He almost killed him, too, but that’s when Taeyong happened to walk past the alley it was all happening in, and well, the rest, as they say, is history.

‘Ask him?’ He offers. He knows Jungkook wants Taeyong at the meeting, but he won’t object if Tae prefers to stay with Ten.

‘I will.’ Taeyong nods. ‘But Yoongi, you should be ready to be the spokesman if I can’t make it.’

Yoongi groans and buries his face in his hands.

‘I hate that shit,’ he says and hears Jungkook snicker. ‘I’m good at fighting things, not talking about them.’

‘Well, you’re long overdue for an upgrade,’ Kook jokes, putting his hand on his shoulder. ‘What are you? Forty, fifty?’

‘I’m thirty-one, you brat,’ he pushes at Kook’s hand half-heartedly. ‘And you should’ve learned to speak for yourself a long time ago.’

‘Nah.’ Jungkook shrugs. ‘I’m the Hades. Zeus has Mnemosyne, and I have Orpheus. Or, well, you as the backup.’

Yoongi groans again and takes his phone.

‘Hermes is here. Brace yourselves.’

As in response to his words, the door to Jungkook’s office opens and the most annoyingly sweet gangster Yoongi has ever seen comes bursting in.

‘Hello demons,’ he bellows, and Yoongi winces. God, Lucas is loud. ‘It’s me, ya boi.’

‘When will you stop entering a room like that?’ He says to himself, knowing that Lucas will ignore it.

‘Hermes.’ Jungkook nods, and Yoongi can see him visibly brace himself for what’s about to happen.

Lucas emits a loud laugh and envelops Kook in a bear hug, not caring that the recipient of his affection is sitting and must be uncomfortable.

‘Hades, my dear, I’ve missed you,’ he says, his voice muffled by Jungkook’s jacket.

‘It’s not mutual,’ Kook murmurs but smiles softly. In their line of work, it’s extremely hard to find someone as unbothered as Hermes.

‘Hey, Lucas, and please, don’t touch me,’ Yoongi says.

‘Me too,’ Taeyong echoes.

‘Ya boring,’ Lucas snorts and plants himself on the table. ‘Sup?’

Yoongi looks closely at him, signaling with his gaze that it’s not the time. Lucas rolls his eyes and pops a candy in his mouth.

‘Ugh, fine.’ He pulls out a sleek laptop from his bag and starts typing rapidly as soon as it’s open. ‘I’ve already informed the Olympus folks, and they’re proposing Hera’s headquarters for the meeting tomorrow at nine p.m. It’s a lowkey brass thing, so they don’t want to alert the locals yet. Further meetings will be held in more official places. Y’all agree? Just FYI, I need to send an answer, like, now.’

Yoongi shrugs, looking at Jungkook and Taeyong, who nod in unison.

‘Perfect,’ Lucas says, pressing more buttons. ‘Now I gotta know who’s gonna be there.’

‘Why?’ Yoongi frowns. ‘They’re gonna make dinner or something?’

Lucas laughs, showing his gums, and shakes his hand.

‘Nah, just the formalities. Fucking bureaucracy, amIright?’

‘How do you manage to talk in memes?’ Taeyong wonders quietly from behind him, and Lucas lies down on the table to look at him upside-down because turning, apparently, isn’t trending nowadays.

‘I’m on stan twitter,’ Lucas says as if it explains something.

‘What’s that?’ Jungkook wonders before Yoongi can stop him.

Lucas sits up again and makes a scared face.

‘A dark, dark place.’ An ominous expression on his face turning into a once again unbothered one, he gets back to typing. ‘So, names? Tbh, I think it’s more of a safety precaution if there’s a leak.’

Yoongi wants to say that there are no moles in their house but thinks better of it. The events of the past few weeks speak for themselves.

‘Fine. Taeyong?’

There’s a silence while Taeyong is rubbing his face, trying to decide what to choose. If it were someone else, Yoongi would judge the hesitation because no matter where the personal allegiances lie, the Underworld must come first. But it’s Taeyong, his brother, and if he chooses to stay with his lover at home, so be it.

‘I’ll stay home,’ Taeyong finally says with a pained expression. ‘Someone needs to sign off on that Westside shipment, anyway. Sorry.’

‘It’s okay.’ Kook nods, and Yoongi wonders whether he’s thinking about Taehyung. They haven’t seen each other since the boy moved to the new apartment, and Yoongi can see that the Hades misses him. It makes him think about Jimin, and he chases the thought away immediately.

‘Alright then, no Orpheus.’ Lucas shrugs. ‘Who _is_ going to be there?’

‘Me, Ares. Obviously,’ Jungkook says with a distant look. ‘Lucas is right, this is a brass meeting, so I’m not taking the minor stakeholders like Tyche or Hecate.’

At this, Lucas’ head snaps up so fast Yoongi’s pretty sure he hears a pop in his neck. He winces on its behalf.

‘Why won’t you take Jungwoo?’ He asks, feigning nonchalance.

‘Because you’re a grown fucking man and can ask him out without me having to drag him to historical meetings,’ Jungkook snaps, looking sternly at Hermes who lets all the air out of his lungs like a balloon.

‘I just asked,’ he murmurs, getting back to his laptop.

‘As I was saying,’ Kook continues, pointedly looking at Lucas as if daring him to say something else about his pathetic crush on the magic shop owner. ‘No point to drag them along. We’re not going there to brag about how many powerful people we have, unlike what Namjoon will undoubtedly do. So, Yoongi, it’s just us and as many of your boys as you deem necessary. We’ll need at least two since Ten isn’t attending.’

Yoongi goes over his squad in his mind.

‘I’m putting the demon twins on the apartment,’ he says, shooting a quick glance at Hermes. He trusts him, but there’s a reason he’s famous as the boy that knows everything, and the longer they can keep Taehyung’s existence secret from the people outside of the Hades’ inner circle, the better. ‘And the rest have their own assignments. Except for Mark and Johnny. So it’s them.’

‘OMG, I missed Mark,’ Lucas exclaims. ‘So it’s Euterpe and— what’s Johnny?’

‘Janus.’ Yoongi rolls his eyes. ‘Honestly, Lucas, he’s been around for ages.’

‘Well, I’m sorry,’ Lucas snorts. ‘I’m just one man, and there’s an entire fucking pantheon to memorize.’

‘It’s your job,’ Taeyong says quietly. He’s still leaning against the window, and Yoongi remarks how much of a reflex it is for him now — to always look out for danger. He can’t remember if it’s the trait he always had or the one he started exhibiting only after Ten came along.

‘So, only four from your side?’ Lucas whistles. ‘Compared to y’all, Zeus is taking his fucking class to a summer camp.’

‘Who’s gonna be there from Olympus?’ Yoongi leans closer, trying to look into the screen of Lucas’ laptop but the boy hisses at him.

‘Don’t interrupt me, come on,’ he whines, and Yoongi chuckles. He probably would’ve killed the brat a long time ago if he wasn’t so important. And kinda cute. Like an annoying pet, they all love and don’t have the heart to send to the shelter.

‘Ok, so.’ Lucas types something again and reads the list. ‘Zeus and Mnemosyne, duh. Taemin, since it’s his shop we’re meeting in. It’ll be fun to watch him and Seokjin interact. Have you noticed how our Jinnie always looks at Hera? Amusing af.’

He’s not wrong, because the topic of this weird lowkey annoyance usually reserved Seokjin expresses for Taemin is the favorite inner chatter issue, but right now he’s not in the mood to discuss it.

‘Alright, next is Hestia and Athene,’ Lucas lists.

Yoongi perks up at that. It’s been a long time since Athene and he ran together, and he’s a bit excited to see Seunghyun again. Hestia is an interesting addition, too, since she’s known to lurk in the darkest corners nowadays, and Yoongi hasn’t seen her since Jennie’s disappearance.

‘Triple H aka Dionysus, Apollo, and Artemis,’ Lucas continues.

‘Obviously.’ Yoongi nods, shooting a quick glance Taeyong’s way. It’s obvious how much Taeyong wants to go, seeing as this meeting is extremely important, but Ten is his priority at the moment, and besides, this powwow is only the first one of the more that are to come.

‘Oh, and Iris too,’ Lucas adds, rubbing his nose.

‘Kibum is back?’ Yoongi asks before he can help himself.

They’ve never been particularly close, but Yoongi knows that Iris is the man to go to when you need to break into something secured and bitchy. Ares is more about the bloody power, and Iris can pick any lock. Lately, though, he’s been away, attending to some Zeus’ business, and Yoongi didn’t know he’s back in town.

‘Not yet, but he’s coming back around the time of the meeting, and since he lives there, he’s listed as attending.’ Lucas shrugs. ‘Hey, do you think there’s something between him and Hera? I mean, they live together.’

‘There are dozens of people living in this building together, and only some of them are sleeping together,’ Yoongi notes, rolling his eyes. ‘You should gossip less.’

‘Lmao, then how will I start conversations with people?’ Lucas snorts.

‘That’s it for Zeus’ people?’ Jungkook asks, distracting them, and Yoongi clears his throat. He can see something bothering Kook.

‘Well, yeah, except for the guards.’ Lucas looks into his laptop. ‘They’re not named, but there’s gonna be about three of Namjoon’s people, and a couple of people that keep watch of Taemin’s tattoo parlor anyway.’

‘And you thought my question about safety wasn’t appropriate,’ Taeyong calls out, chuckling. ‘Leave it to Zeus to bring a small army to the family meeting.’

‘Speaking of family.’ Yoongi perks up. ‘Is Hobi coming?’

‘Don’t know yet.’ Lucas looks at his screen. ‘I sent him a text, but he hasn’t responded since. I hear he’s swamped.’

Yoongi frowns. He spoke to Hobi last evening, and everything seemed to be okay. Yes, he’s always swamped, but it happens when you’re in charge of about a dozen university clubs. Hoseok is two years older than Yoongi, but he’s still tied to the University under the disguise of getting another degree. The story goes that he’s there to watch over the people they have on the inside, but Yoongi has always suspected that Poseidon just likes to be close to people and knowledge.

‘He’ll show.’ It’s Jungkook, the same worried expression on his face. ‘I know he will.’

Yoongi looks at him closely, trying to read his mind and guess what’s going on inside of it. He knows it’s not about Hoseok — unlike Namjoon, Jungkook sees him quite often. Hobi is a welcomed guest on both sides of the river, and he never fails to do his brotherly duty. Yoongi sighs. The day X is only tomorrow, but he already has an uneasy feeling.

‘Alright, then.’ Lucas closes his laptop with a pop. ‘Any questions?’

‘No. You can go. Thank you, Hermes,’ Taeyong says, still not looking away from the street. Yoongi frowns. Taeyong’s gaze is way too focused to be a wandering one. He subtly gets up and goes to stand near Tae while Lucas is gathering his things.

‘See ya tomorrow, y’all,’ he says and leaves the room without waiting for his response.

‘What’s wrong?’ Kook asks as soon as he’s gone.

Yoongi follows Taeyong’s look and sees a dark figure near the entrance to the Street. It’s wrapped in clothes and darkness, and it’s impossible to distinguish their gender, let alone facial features. As soon as Yoongi sees the person, they turn around and get into a sleek black car parked nearby, taking off without a sound.

He looks at Taeyong and sees a calculating expression on his face.

‘Do you want me to take care of that?’ He asks, already planning to look through the cameras footage to identify the intruder.

‘No need,’ Taeyong says quietly, still looking at the place the figure was standing at. ‘She won’t bother us for now.’

Yoongi frowns, wanting to ask more questions but he trusts Taeyong to tell him if the mysterious woman is a threat to the family.

‘Then tell me when it’s time,’ he says and turns away after receiving a nod from Taeyong.

‘I’m going out,’ he throws over his shoulder, taking his disassembled gun and putting it together quickly. ‘Need to find whenever the devil twins are holed up at and tell them about their assignment.’

‘Be careful, Ares,’ comes quiet advice from Kook. ‘The night is dangerous.’

Yoongi snorts and glances at the grandfather clock.

‘It’s almost four in the morning. The quiet hour is coming. I’ll be fine.’

He almost leaves, but something stops him, and he turns back to look at Jungkook.

‘Is everything alright? You seemed bothered by something before,’ he asks.

Jungkook glances up from his phone and smiles.

‘Yeah, I just,’ he stutters, and Yoongi raises his eyebrows. ‘I just miss Taehyung. And worry about him.’

Yoongi almost laughs, almost. Because no matter how adorable Kook is, he’s still the Hades, and laughing at Hades can seriously backfire.

‘I’ll bring him on the weekend?’ He offers, already making plans on how to transfer him undetected.

‘Thanks.’ Jungkook nods, and Yoongi is delighted to see a shy smile. ‘Tell him hi from me tomorrow, please?’

‘Of course.’ Yoongi smiles himself. Naturally, it makes him think about Jimin again, but he’s getting pretty good at blocking those. ‘Goodnight.’

He leaves without hearing their response and thinks about the way it always is. Jungkook always in his thoughts, Taeyong always on alert, and him always with a gun ready to defend.

Their life is utter shit by some people’s standards, but he would never change it. If only he had someone by his side to share it all with. He closes his eyes for a second and exhales. One thing at a time. Family business first, annoying crushes later.

Ares steps out of the building and takes a lungful of fresh air. The sky is dark, but it’s like he said — that rare quiet hour is coming, and the night was always his favorite blanket, so he will be alright.

 

V

 

Objectively, Jimin knows that Yoongi will be there when he opens the door. Realistically, he’s still disappointed and a little annoyed when he answers it, and there he is, looking as evil as ever. Okay, he may be exaggerating, but there’s genuinely nothing good and welcoming in the way Yoongi is leaning on the wall with his hand on his gun.

‘And good morning to you, too.’ Jimin rolls his eyes and steps away to let him in. He smells of blood and magnolias, and Jimin fears he’ll develop an allergy soon.

‘Did you even look into the peep-hole?’ Yoongi grumps, and Jimin notes the change in his tone.

It’s not exactly unwelcome — to hear him talk to him like they’re virtually strangers, because they are, but it still makes Jimin frown. Did he manage to piss Yoongi off with his cold demeanor after all? His mind goes back to their encounter in the alley. Aphrodite. He refused the title, and maybe, just maybe, Yoongi accepted it. It still makes Jimin uneasy. Perhaps, he shouldn’t have let his distaste for a dangerous criminal be shown.

‘Yes,’ he lies easily. ‘Why? You were expecting me to be more taken by your—’ he looks at his ripped jeans and stained jacket. That’s most probably blood. ‘—appearance?’

Yoongi snorts and pulls out a knife out of— somewhere, and brings it close to Jimin’s throat. Jimin swallows, suddenly afraid. He didn’t make him that mad, did he?

‘If it wasn’t me, one motion — and you’re dead,’ Yoongi says calmly. Jimin knows that the knife by his throat should be a priority, but he can’t look away from Yoongi’s eyes. His voice is angry, but his gaze is emotionless. ‘I’m here to keep you and Taehyung alive. It’s not that hard but still isn’t easy. The least you could is to look at who you’re letting into your apartment.’

‘Well,’ Jimin whispers. ‘Are you sure I’d let you in if I knew you were the one behind that door?’

He sees Yoongi grit his teeth. Is he mad or amused? Something tells Jimin it’s both. It’s a few seconds of tense silence, and then Yoongi withdraws his hand and hides the knife in his sleeve.

‘You’re insufferable.’

‘Thanks.’

‘Please, be careful. For Taehyung’s sake.’

He turns away then and goes into the kitchen as if he owns it. Considering his gang pays for this apartment, it’s not that much of a lie.

Jimin can’t complain, though. The flat is nice — a living room, anointed with the kitchen, and with two separate room on the other end.

‘You’re in a good mood,’ Jimin remarks, following him.

‘So nice of you to notice,’ Yoongi bites back while making coffee. He adds milk but no sugar. Jimin notes it away without trying to explain why. ‘It’s a hard day ahead.’

Now. Jimin can drop it. He doesn’t care about the gang and its dealings, and he cares even less about what got Yoongi so stressed. He can walk out of the kitchen right now and go lie down to watch some anime, just like he planned to spend his Saturday before their ‘bodyguard’ appeared.

But seeing as Jimin never had much of a self-preservation instinct, and he seems to find a certain joy in annoying himself by interacting with Yoongi, he comes closer and starts making his tea.

‘You want to talk about it?’ He says, not looking up. He still feels, somehow, that Yoongi tenses and looks at him. He keeps pouring water into the kettle, ignoring the already-familiar shiver down his hands and the desire to run away. He stays put.

‘Do you?’ Yoongi finally asks, sipping on his coffee.

‘Well, I offered, didn’t I?’ Jimin says quietly, looking up after all. Yoongi is farther away from him than he thought, but somehow he isn’t surprised. Some part of him is getting used to feeling the man on a certain level of his being.

They study each other’s faces for a second, and then Yoongi sighs.

‘There’s a meeting today. It’s somewhat historical,’ he says shortly and frowns like he’s contemplating dropping it there. ‘I can tell you what it’s about, but you have to promise me you won’t run to the police to tell them everything.’

He frowns, like even suggesting that sits badly with him but it’s still a necessity.

Jimin snorts.

‘I told you already, I’m not doing that while Taehyung is happy and safe.’ He shrugs, adding a tea bag to his cup. The water has almost boiled. ‘And if it makes you feel any better, you can just not tell me where the meeting is going to be held. This way, I won’t know where to send the cops.’

Yoongi nods slightly and wraps both his hands around the mug. Jimin only now notices it’s one of his favorites. It makes him curl his lips, but he stays silent. He’ll just throw it out later, probably.

‘Makes sense,’ Yoongi says.

‘So why is it historical?’ The kettle is ready, so Jimin pours water into his mug and leaves it to brew.

‘We’re meeting with the Olympus,’ Yoongi says and pauses as if waiting for Jimin to gasp or something. He arches a brow. ‘Don’t tell me you’ve never heard of them.’

‘I have,’ Jimin says curtly and looks at his hand. He knows about Olympus very well, and the memories make the bile rise in his throat. ‘My father was in some way associated with them. Probably still is. I hear they don’t let go of people easily even if said people end up in nuthouses.’

He doesn’t want to elaborate because Yoongi is the last person he wants to share his semi-tragic story with. Yoongi doesn’t press, and in some way Jimin is grateful. He decides to add one detail, and nothing more.

‘He got his— medicine from the guy up there. Hypnos, or something,’ he says, frowning. His tea is almost ready, and he watches on how the color spreads through the water.

‘Yeah, I know him. The best pharmacist in both towns. All the drugs, and more, come from him,’ Yoongi says, and Jimin nods. ‘Do you know who his boss is? The one ruling the Olympus?’

‘No,’ Jimin says quietly. He never wondered about that, to be honest. ‘Another pretentious asshole, I presume.’

‘The most pretentious out of all of us, actually.’ Yoongi moves his body, shifting his weight from one leg to another, and Jimin feels it as if he was the one doing that. He’s getting used to this. And he hates it. ‘Zeus.’

Jimin can’t help it — he snorts.

‘Of course, it’s Zeus.’

‘Yeah, he’s also Jungkook’s brother,’ Yoongi continues and that makes Jimin look up. ‘Yep. It’s a full-on family business.’

In some way, it makes sense, Jimin thinks. He remembers being a kid and hearing all the horrible stories about the man who used to rule over the city — the Cronus. They said he was a cruel hard man, and he left behind a wrecked city and three sons. Jimin never gave it much thought, but now it all makes sense.

‘Of course.’ He nods. ‘Three brothers. I presume there’s also a Poseidon? What, he rules over the river?’

And then something happens that makes Jimin look up — Yoongi laughs, showing his teeth and gums, and in this moment of his vulnerability, Jimin thinks that he’s rather beautiful.

‘No, he doesn’t, but he likes to think so and please, never tell him otherwise,’ Yoongi says breathlessly. ‘He’s my best friend, actually.’

‘Seriously? You?’ Jimin says before he can stop himself.

‘Yes, me,’ Yoongi deadpans, but there’s still humor in his eyes. ‘Our history is even longer than that of Jungkook and I. I met him back when his father was still alive, and he hooked me up with some jobs when the city went to hell. Did you know that Cronus never left an heir? I mean, his will was never found. Everybody just assumed that the power should go to Namjoon, as the oldest, but there were people against it. It was hell.’

Some part of Jimin remembers it — the chaos, the crime all over the place. He couldn’t even go outside in daylight without fearing to get mugged, or worse. He was too busy grieving for his mother when something shifted, when it became safer and brighter.

‘Until Jungkook took over?’ He guesses.

‘Almost,’ Yoongi says. ‘The city got divided into two towns on both sides of the river. Namjoon became Zeus and managed to clear out the territory now known as Olympus, but the other side was still in chaos. Until a few years after Cronus’ death, Kook vowed to clear it out with the condition that he gets it as his territory. Namjoon was livid, let me tell you.’

Jimin notices that there’s a faraway look on Yoongi’s face like he’s recounting some old family anecdote. Perhaps, for him, it is just so.

‘He feared Jungkook wants to take away his power.’

‘He didn’t trust his own brother?’ Jimin wonders. The closest thing he ever had to a sibling is Taehyung, and he trusts him more than anyone. If Tae asked for half the world, Jimin would have given him the whole.

‘He did, but he didn’t trust what the power can do to him.’ Yoongi shrugs. ‘And he was worried. They were never the exemplary loving family, but they still love each other. In their own way.’

Jimin somehow knows what he’s talking about. Despite all the shit he was put through, some part of him will always love his dad. But then again, his love can be explained by something as simple as Stockholm syndrome.

‘Anyway,’ Yoongi resumes. ‘Kook didn’t disappoint. By that time, I already joined his crew, and we cleared out the town and called it an Underworld. Zeus was wrong to worry — Hades never wanted more than he earned himself. After some time we sat down to make an Agreement that allows us all to control and monitor what happens on both sides of the river. It’s not a rivalry we have. It’s a union. And it happened four years ago. Today is the first time we’re meeting with them since then.’

Jimin frowns.

‘What, you cooperate, but you’ve never met in person?’ It seems a rather strange way to run a business.

‘Well, some people meet some people, negotiations are sometimes held, and we always keep in touch.’ Yoongi downs the rest of his coffee. ‘But today is the first time since then that the brass meets. It’s only the high circle and some of the guards. And it’s also the first time Namjoon and Jungkook will meet in person since the Agreement.’

‘That’s—’ Jimin takes a pause, pondering on his words. There’s only so much that a deadly assassin can let slide until there’s a knife in Jimin’s stomach. ‘Doesn’t sound that historical?’

Yoongi snorts and purses his lips as if agreeing with how ridiculous it all sounds.

‘Yah, but— you weren’t here when everything went down. You didn’t see the empire fall apart only to be built back up from the ashes of Cronus. You didn’t— you didn’t know Demeter.’

At that, Jimin looks up. Something about that name rings a bell, and not only in the concept of ancient myths. No, he’s heard it before on the streets.

‘Demeter?’

Yoongi frowns and looks down as if ashamed of letting that name slip. He’s gripping his empty mug.

‘It’s not my story to share, but just know that Cronus didn’t have only biological children.’

Jimin somehow knows that pressing further won’t give any results. He’s curious, captivated beyond his own wish by the stories Yoongi’s shared, but he sees that asking about the Demeter is pointless. He nods.

‘So, you’re attending? Seeing as you’re Jungkook’s lap dog,’ he says instead, feeling a hint of fear and a huge deal of amusement.

‘Yes, I’m attending.’ Yoongi grits his teeth. ‘Seeing as I’m his right hand.’

‘Whatever rings your bells, darling.’ Jimin smiles, only half of it ironic. Something in the way they interact now — without that intensity Jimin has felt before, even bickering in a somehow friendly manner — it makes him believe that he can tolerate Yoongi after all. Maybe, he’ll even come to like him, if Yoongi doesn’t get killed off earlier.

‘So who’s gonna watch us?’ He asks. Taehyung is still sleeping in his room, even though it’s one in the afternoon, and Jimin knows that by checking over his shoulder and looking into the crack into Taehyung’s room. It’s hard to wake Tae up if he doesn’t want to, so Jimin isn’t worried about their voices being too loud.

‘The devil twins,’ Yoongi grunts, and Jimin turns back to him, eyebrows raised.

‘Excuse me?’

‘Ugh,’ Yoongi grunts and rubs his eyes. His phone chimes with a notification, and he pulls it out, looking at the screen. ‘Speak of the devil. They’re here.’

‘Who?’ Jimin asks again. Something in the way Yoongi speaks about them doesn’t sit right with him.

‘Phobos and Deimos,’ Yoongi answers, and Jimin wants to throw something at him. ‘Also known as Wooseok and Jinho. They’re my trainees. And they’re annoying.’

As in response to his words the door opens and the most mismatched couple Jimin’s even seen comes in. One of them, the tall and threatening looking one, smiles uncharacteristically wide for his line of work, and unceremoniously comes into the kitchen, setting on preparing two cups of tea. Jimin watches him, bewildered.

‘Don’t you two shitheads know how to knock?’ Yoongi grunts but there’s no real anger in his voice.

‘What’s the point?’ The second one, much smaller and even somehow cuter looking one, says, hopping onto the counter. His jacket riles up, and Jimin expects to see a gun, but instead, his holster is full of filled syringes. ‘We’re always the bigger threat, anyway.’

‘Hello to you, too,’ Jimin deadpans. He hopes their clothes won’t leave traces of blood on his kitchen counter. He just cleaned it yesterday.

‘Oh, you must be Jimin,’ the small one says, smiling so wide Jimin’s afraid the skin on his lips will break or something. ‘Yoongi said you’re the fearless one. I’m Jinho.’

Jimin raises his eyebrows and looks at Yoongi who’s conveniently turned away. So he’s been talking about him, huh.

‘That makes you Wooseok.’ He turns to the tall one. The guy nods without looking up from his tea.

‘Guilty as charged.’ His voice is deep, and something in it is not exactly threatening, but warning.

‘We’re gonna be protecting you today,’ Jinho says, still smiling and wiggling his legs. Jimin knows they’re supposed to be dangerous, but something in him wants to protect them instead.

‘You’re too positive to be a criminal.’

Contradictory to Jimin’s expectations, it only makes Jinho laugh harder. He taps the holster Jimin noticed earlier.

‘’Tis my disguise. I’m more dangerous than half of the Underworld, and I don’t even need guns for that.’ He pulls out one of the syringes, and Jimin notices that it’s not a regular one — there’s a needle on one side and some kind of spraying device on the other. ‘I can inflict fear so great that my enemies will die of a heart attack before they can get to me.’

Something rings familiar about it, and Jimin chuckles.

‘Deimos, then?’ He wonders and Jinho nods happily.

‘Yep. I’m tiny but awful.’

‘Well, you need to get to your enemies first,’ Wooseok says, handing him a cup of steaming tea. ‘And that’s why you need me. Phobos.’

They exchange a look while Jinho is taking his cup that almost makes Jimin choke. He doesn’t know how but he’s positive these two are more than just friends.

‘Oh my god.’ He can’t help himself. ‘Please, don’t tell me you’re actually brothers.’

Yoongi snorts from behind him.

‘No, but they’re still revolting,’ he scoffs and goes to the exit.

‘We know you love us, Dad,’ Jinho calls out.

‘Dad?’ Jimin can’t help but laugh, earning a glare from Yoongi.

‘Well, you know.’ Wooseok shrugs. ‘Phobos and Deimos aka sons of Ares.’

Jimin laughs harder, grabbing his stomach.

‘Oh my god, your kid is bigger than you, oh mighty Ares.’

‘That makes you our mom, by the way,’ Jinho informs him with a smile. ‘Aphrodite.’

That makes Jimin’s humor go away so quickly he almost chokes on his saliva.

‘I’m not—’

‘All right, you shitheads,’ Yoongi interrupts, and some part of Jimin is grateful for that. The reminder about their conversation in the alley sobers him up, and he realizes he’s supposed to hate Ares. He’s surprised to find he doesn’t exactly remember why.

‘Keep them alive.’ Yoongi points to the still dumbfounded Jimin and the door to Taehyung’s room. ‘And don’t leave their side.’

‘Sure, Dad.’ Jinho nods, already on his phone.

‘Couldn’t Taeyong or Ten look after us?’ Jimin wonders absentmindedly as he looks at the pair spilling milked tea on his pristine kitchen counter.

‘The brotherly duo is holed up at home,’ Yoongi explains, and Jimin sighs. ‘Ten is still recovering, so Taeyong is tending to him.’

He opens the door and almost walks out but then turns around and sends one last look Jimin’s way.

‘Stay alive, please.’

‘You too.’ Jimin nods, looking at his eyes. ‘Don’t get killed off.’

‘I’ll try,’ Yoongi chuckles. ‘Otherwise, you’ll be way too happy.’

And with that, he goes away, leaving Jimin with the strangest couple.

‘What’s the fuss?’ Comes a deep voice from his left and he looks over to see Taehyung emerge from his room with a major case of bedhead and the creases on his skin from his pillow.

‘I just got two kids,’ Jimin says weakly, gesturing to Wooseok and Jinho.

‘Mm.’ Taehyung licks his lips and rubs his puffy eyes. ‘Do we have any milk left?’

 

V

 

 _She’s pretty_ , he thinks.

She looks lost, wondering the alleyway in that almost-adorable innocent way that shows she wasn’t planning on being here when she started walking.

He smiles, feeling the familiar anticipation burning in his gut. He exchanges a look with his associate, and they both smile, touching the guns under their jackets. It was a pretty good deal, bought them from the dirty-looking guy on the outskirts of Olympus.

Now, technically, they can get in huge trouble if caught red-handed. Zeus and his people don’t tolerate people like him, yet they’re nowhere to be seen right now, and besides, Zeus can’t expect everyone to be as boring and high-strung as he is.

Her heels click attractively on the pavement, and he goes closer, eyeing her shorts with delight. _Ah, baby, but you shouldn’t have appeared here in such clothes at this late hour._

He knows exactly when she realizes she’s being followed. He smells rain and litter, and it is such a familiar smell that always accompanies his wins that he smiles again. She turns around, and their eyes meet.

He’s waiting for that usual sense of dread to appear in her gaze, but it never comes. She probably thinks she can get out of it easily. Ah, poor soul. He almost feels sorry for her, but the look of her exposed neck sends a shiver down his spine. His associate is closing in faster that he is, and it irritates him. He knows they’ll share anyway, but he still wants to be the one to catch her.

And then something unusual happens that makes him stop in his tracks.

She smiles.

‘Really, boys?’ Her voice is high and childish, and it excites him even more so even though something makes him feel uneasy.

Whatever. She’s just a girl, and there’s two of them.

He comes closer, pulling out his gun hoping to show her who she’s dealing with but she just laughs. He frowns but keeps going. It’s not the first arrogant bitch he’ll have to show who’s the boss.

‘Don’t you know it’s forbidden on Zeus’ grounds? To assault girls and boys in dark alleyways?’ She’s talking like she’s telling a bedtime story, and it makes him mad. ‘Hell, even the Underworld wouldn’t let it fly. Can’t believe you’re still breathing.’

‘Shut up,’ he says, tired of hearing her talk. Her voice is now not alluring but too high-pitched, and he can feel a headache coming on.

She clicks her tongue and rolls her eyes. There’s nothing she can defend herself with, and that’s why they chose her — she’s wearing a crop-top and shorts, doesn’t even have a bag, and it probably should’ve made him curious, but he doesn’t have time for it.

He goes to grab her long hair, but his fingers close around empty air. He stares at the place the girl was standing at just seconds ago and suddenly feels long fingers wrap around the back of his neck.

‘You silly, silly boys.’

Her voice isn’t high now, it’s deep and so angry he remembers all the times he felt that same anger, and it makes him afraid. He hopes his associate will help him but she turns his head sideways, and he sees him lying on the ground with blood gushing from his neck. Who did it? When did she get the time? He feels his breath get stuck in his throat.

There’s a sharp sound, and he feels his spine being ripped into. The pain is so immense he can’t even scream, just try and grab her, but she’s too fast. Just in a few seconds, she lets go of his neck, and now she’s in front of him, showing him the blade dripping with blood.

‘Knives, hidden up our sleeves,’ she sing-songs and stabs him again, this time in the chest. He can’t fall — she’s gripping his shoulders, and her nails dig into his flesh, and she’s somehow so much stronger than she looks like. She’s smiling, and there’s no innocence on her lips, just cruel glee glinting in her irises.

He feels his consciousness slip away from him as the blood stains her pretty white top.

‘Can’t believe the scum like you still exists,’ she seethes and buries the blade in his neck. ‘Zeus will be happy to hear I got rid of two more.’

He falls to the ground as the life drains away from him. She buries her heels in his palm, but he doesn’t even have the strength to feel the pain.

‘Some part of me hopes you survive, boy,’ she says, leaning closer. ‘So that you can remember me. And tell your buddies to kill themselves before Hestia gets to them.’

The last thing he sees before dying is those damned heels walking away, and the sound of laughter echoing through the dirty walls of an empty alleyway.

 

V

 

Yoongi remembers the moments he met every person that now stands before him with painstaking clarity. He knows their stories, and each one of them, no matter how unique and different, connects to one person — Cronus.

Seokjin. The mighty Mnemosyne. Namjoon’s right hand, confidante, lover. Appeared by his side so long ago that nobody really remembers how it was without him. Always watching, always knowing, always remembering. An orphan that appeared as if out of nowhere and took his place as the only person Namjoon has ever fully trusted. He’s standing on Zeus’ right side now, head inclined, a small smile playing on the corners of his lips. Yoongi likes him and despises him at the same time. Rumors say that he was once a person that hammered the last nail into the grave of Cronus’ illness. Nobody knows to what extent his power goes, but it’s general knowledge — never mess with Mnemosyne.

Taemin. Nicknamed Hera, he appeared in the family years ago, when Jungkook was still a toddler. Seokjin had brought him and told Cronus that he’s staying, and Yoongi has no idea why the Father agreed, but that’s another point in the mystery of how exactly powerful Seokjin is. Taemin became a good friend with Namjoon, and for some time, the time they don’t talk about because Jin gets angry, they became the closest of friends. They’re probably close still, but Yoongi wouldn’t know. All he does know is that Taemin has one of the major parts of Namjoon’s business but prefers to simply play the role of a lookout. His tattoo parlor is an amazing place, and all the ink on Yoongi was painted in here, but beyond the doors and back rooms, there is an entrance to the Olympus. The true headquarters. The _SHINee_ is closed for the day, but he still chooses to sit at one of the chairs. He’s cleaning his instruments, but it’s obvious he’s on alert for those who know him well enough. Yoongi had met him years ago when getting his first tattoo, and he’s familiar with his body language — always calm and at ease to the naked eye, but constantly prepared to strike with whatever’s closest. All of them in here today are good fighters, but Taemin is the most dangerous — you will never see him coming.

Next to Taemin, in another chair, is Kibum. He’s named Iris, but the only rainbow thing about him is his hair. He looks like he’s sleeping, but his fingers are playing with a lock. He’s the best cracksman in the business, and he’s constantly learning, evolving. Just back from taking care of some business, his clothes still dirty from whatever means of traveling he was taking, and the look of a person that doesn’t give a single fuck. His feet are shaking in some unknown beat, and he smiles, feeling Yoongi’s gaze on him. Opens his eyes, and smiles wider. They met when trying to get into the same apartment ten years ago, a little test Cronus made them undergo, and Yoongi is responsible for him now having a home and an alliance. He brought him to get inked, Taemin and he hit it off as soon as they met, and now they’re running the shop together. Kibum nods slightly, and Yoongi nods back.

On Zeus’ left side, hand on his gun, a bored expression on his face, is Yoongi’s mythological sibling — Athene. Seunghyun hasn’t particularly changed. There’s more maturity in his step now, more certainty that he’s in the right place, more confidence. Yoongi remembers them both running errands for Zeus back when Underworld was just a rotten town on the other side of the river. They both never liked company much but it wasn’t as challenging for them to work together. They were always in sync and perfectly understood what the other was thinking and why. It probably changed now because it’s been years since they’ve truly worked together but Athene still has that spring in his step and mischief in his eyes. He’s Mnemosyne’s personal guard now, and Zeus’ favorite watchdog. Yoongi remembers thinking that Athene is to Zeus what he as Ares is to Hades. A friend, a guard, an executor. Seunghyun is watching the room, looking for threats even though there are three more Olympus guards around them. Yoongi thinks that he needs to talk to him after the meeting, catch up and compare their kill-lists, like good old times.

Sitting beside Mnemosyne is the trio that became the reason Taeyong isn’t here with them tonight. Dionysus, his lover Apollo, and Apollo’s sister Artemis. Hwitaek, Hyojong, and Hyuna. They look like bored royalty, but then again they always do. He knows their story from people close to Namjoon, and partially from Ten. When the now thriving _Triple H_ was still a rotten hole run by Uranus, Hwitaek was his personal assistant. He never much cared for what was happening inside the private rooms, his priority was to run the place smoothly. Until the next party of teenagers that had nothing to their names came in, and the Kim siblings were among them. It took Hwitaek a few months to fall for a boy, and another few and Ten’s mysterious disappearance to turn his teeth on his master. Nobody mourned Uranus — everybody praised the new king of the brothel. Hwitaek and the siblings turned the place around, lifting the inhuman laws Uranus had once set and started running the place with all the grace and dignity of an elite escort service. Jungkook once said that the main reason they were accepted into the circle so easily was that they did what Namjoon didn’t have the guts to — cut out the ‘old guard’, the remains of Cronus’ reign, killing off his best friend and clearing the streets around the club from the old clients who enjoyed torturing and raping the hosts. The place is practically a heaven now if it can be said about a brothel. The trio runs it like their own kingdom, and the life and health of every host is a law. Especially the one they call Eros who nobody is allowed to touch. Yoongi thinks about visiting the club soon. Apollo and Artemis sit on two sides of Dionysus, but they look like a whole — like they belong together, and whoever tries to question it? Well. The ground of the _Triple H_ still remembers the blood of its creator.

Poseidon is sitting at the center of the table, the Switzerland of their people. They exchanged a glance when the Underworld people came in, but otherwise, Hobi hasn’t said a word to him yet.

Lucas is lounging on the spinning chair at the far end of the table. He’s not exactly required to be here but he’s somewhat of a secretary and mediator, and besides, it’d be really hard to ask him to leave. And impolite. Hermes might seem like a carefree idiot, but he’s way too powerful to be disregarded.

The only person from the Olympus that isn’t here when she’s supposed to, is Hestia, and it’s unsettling. No matter how unpredictable and free-willed she is, Hestia never misses a meeting this big. Yoongi remembers the beginning of their acquaintanceship — she tried to kill him. To his name, he went away with a few scratches, and whoever has fought alongside Hestia knows how badass that is. She’s nowhere to be seen now, though, and it makes Yoongi wonder how far behind he is on the Pantheon chatter. He knows she likes to run solo these days. She was always the black sheep in the family of black sheep, but Cronus saw something in her worth paying attention to and trained her to be the deadliest assassin out of his children. She was an orphan Seokjin brought in once too, and she became a weapon in the hands of the Father. But his death changed a lot of things, including her behavior. If she was unpredictable before, ever since Demeter, the only person able to calm her down, dissolved into the history of their city, Hestia became way too unstable to try and control. Yoongi hears that Namjoon is letting her run wild until she’s loyal, and it seems that tonight she ran too far to come back.

All these thoughts and memories come through Yoongi’s mind in under a minute while they’re entering the parlor. First are the guards — Johnny and Mark — and he’s delighted to see that Mark doesn’t react too visibly upon seeing Seokjin — his not-father.

(He remembers the day Mark came to him and asked to join the Underworld, gripping Johnny’s hand and telling him that Seokjin gave his permission to leave the Muses dorms. Yoongi had looked upon Johnny, his youngest recruit, another boy that the streets treated like he didn’t deserve, and wondered what went on behind his back that made the Muse leave Mnemosyne to stay with Janus of all people. He nodded and told Mark that if he’s joining — that’s it. He’s allowed to visit his brothers, but he’s not coming back. The life of being Seokjin’s personal toy in his fancy dollhouse that took in orphan kids and turned them into little psychopaths was over. Mark gripped Johnny’s hand harder and nodded. And then he became Yoongi’s little psychopath.)

Then, Yoongi himself settles on the right side of the place Jungkook will be sitting at. The Hades himself goes to Zeus, and they meet on the middle, embracing tightly.

‘Hello, little brother,’ Namjoon whispers, a genuine smile on his lips.

‘Hello to you, Joonie,’ Kook smiles back, and that’s it.

They all take their places at the table, including Taemin and Kibum who leave what they were doing and join Mnemosyne. The guards are standing, but Yoongi has to sit down since he’s in Taeyong’s place today. It makes him uneasy because it’s not his role to play yet he has to comply as not to let his boss down. He watches Seunghyun stand behind Namjoon and Mnemosyne, and they nod to each other. The guards are standing farther, not having earned the place of standing close to Zeus yet.

‘Alright, folks,’ Hobi says, clapping his hands and taking a deep breath. ‘Shall we begin?’

 

V

‘The first incident happened almost three months ago,’ Seokjin says, his face grim. ‘If my memory serves me right, Ares was the one to dispose of the threat.’

Yoongi nods, remembering that day. The day they met Taehyung. The day his watch started going again. He touches it with his fingers now, feeling the steady ticking with their tips.

‘Yes, and I regret not thinking about it for longer than I did. I considered it an anomaly while it was the first case in a pattern,’ he says. Thinks about Jimin. Clenches his fists. ‘Something started happening that day, and it’s only gotten worse from our side. Mark?’

Mark comes further, pulling out the map of the Underworld and lying it out on the table. Several spots, thirteen, to be precise, are marked red.

‘These are the places that were either hit,’ he explains, indicating the marks, ‘Or became a location where another betrayal happened. We’ve started calling these cases the Yago issues.’

Yoongi sees Seokjin look at Mark with pride and a smile on his lips, and for some reason, it doesn’t sit right with him. He knows that Jin practically raised the boy but the power Mnemosyne holds over the nine Muses has always creeped Yoongi out, and he hopes Mark is free from the desire to come back to Olympus. He won’t be able to, of course, but it doesn’t mean he won’t try — and that can turn out disastrous.

‘Before you ask, there’s no pattern,’ Mark continues. ‘At least, we haven’t discovered one yet.’

‘All we know is that all the Yago issues happen with people as far away from Hades’ inner circle as it’s possible,’ Johnny continues, pulling out a stack of paper. ‘Transcriptions of the questionings. I’ve already sent you the videos prior to the meeting. You can watch through them but they’re all similar, and something tells me you already know what they all are saying.’

Seokjin nods, taking the papers and carding through them. It’s probably the first time Yoongi’s seeing him this distressed. A god of knowledge and memory that doesn’t know what’s happening right under this nose.

‘They sound like they were brainwashed into turning on their masters,’ Jin murmurs, and Yoongi nods. ‘We’ve had seven of these Yago issues, but not all of ours were as far away from the inner circle. Dionysus?’

Hwitaek leans further from where he was lounging in his chair and puts his intertwined fingers before him on the table.

‘There’s been an incident at the club,’ he starts, face grim and almost angry. ‘You know how strict the rules are about the hosts, and they’re even stricter about Eros.’

Yoongi’s mind goes to the boy’s in question face. Seemingly innocent and pretty, he must be the most protected person in Olympus apart from Zeus himself.

‘One of our regular clients touched Hyuck,’ Hwitaek says, gritting his teeth. ‘Tried to take him in front of me and all the guards. I personally took him out, and if not for Hyojong, he’d be dead right there and then.’

‘I’ve heard about the attacks.’ Hyojong takes the lead, his gaze distant. ‘And figured that we need to question him before taking him out.’

‘What did he say?’ Jungkook says for the first time since the meetings started. He leans forward, sudden fire in his gaze, and Yoongi remembers that he knows Hyuck personally. Scouted him from the streets and gave to the trio to take care.

‘That he got tired of the constant rules,’ Hyuna answers. Her voice drawls over them like a syrup. She’s playing with a dagger. ‘And not just ours, but the city’s.’

‘Did he say whether the thought came from him, or someone gave him a hint?’ Yoongi asks.

She looks up, and her eyes are burning with humor and deadliness.

‘Sorry, I cut his throat before I came up with that question,’ she shrugs, and Yoongi chuckles. Man, this woman is amazing.

‘I’ve had a couple of rogues too,’ Taemin says, and Yoongi turns to him, realizing he forgot the man is even here. ‘Nothing too serious, but it is rather strange to come for a tattoo from Hera out of all people and rant about how Zeus is too weak for two hours.’

‘Just wasted good ink.’ Kibum shrugs, popping a gum babble. ‘They ended up dead anyway.’

They high five each other, and Yoongi wants to snort. They all, as a group, are not the stablest.

‘So we have no witnesses?’ Jungkook asks, leaning back in his chair again. ‘Interesting.’

‘Why?’ Hoseok frowns.

‘It’s just—’ Kook sighs and blinks. ‘It’s like whoever is doing this, is targeting people we will not hesitate to kill. For example, I’d never take Ares out if he was to act this way.’

Yoongi raises his eyebrows and pouts.

‘No need to use me as an example, boss,’ he says jokingly.

‘Unclench.’ Jungkook rolls his eyes. ‘What I’m saying is they treat the people they brainwash as disposable. Which they are.’

‘Wow, and they say we’re stuck-up,’ Hyuna drawls out. Taemin looks her way, but she’s sitting on the other side of the table and misses the look he’s giving her.

‘Maybe, we are.’ Jin shrugs. ‘But it’s simple — people have to prove themselves before leveling up from disposables to protected.’

‘Are we, though?’ Lucas says quietly, probably not expecting to be heard, but everyone at the table turns to look at him. His eyes turn round, and he sits up straight. ‘I mean, what makes you so sure nobody in here will be affected? Or people who aren’t here but still go by the nicknames system?’

‘Do you have any suspicions, Hermes?’ Seokjin asks, head inclined. He’s trying his best to be sarcastic, but Yoongi can see that he’s actually interested in what Lucas has to say, and it shows how desperate he is. They all are.

‘Look, there’s obviously some mind control thingy going on.’ Lucas shrugs with one shoulder. ‘Like, a drug? And there are only a few people that have the means to do that. More so, there’s only one person who can actually cook up something that strong.’

‘Easy.’ Comes a voice from behind Zeus, and Yoongi looks up to see Seunghyun with his fists clenched together and his jaw set. ‘You need some hard evidence before even suggesting something like that. Or are you forgetting I can snap your neck in one move?’

‘Sorry, Athene, I’m just—’ Lucas stutters, and Yoongi feels sorry for the poor fellow. It’s interesting to fight alongside Seunghyun when he’s riled up yet it’s terrifying to be on the receiving end of that rage.

‘Nobody is accusing anyone of anything,’ Namjoon says, and Lucas lets out a visible sigh. ‘I trust Hypnos, but Lucas has a point — he’s the only one that can figure out whether this rebellious thing is caused by a chemical.’

Seunghyun takes a breath through his nose but stands down. It’s not a first time someone dared to disrespect Jiyong in front of him, but it is the first time Seunghyun’s reacting so strongly. Yoongi thinks he needs to ask what’s up with that.

‘We’ll consult Jiyong.’ Jin nods. ‘And for now, let’s agree to keep the person alive the next time something happens.’

‘No promises,’ Hwitaek chuckles.

‘Look, Dionysus,’ Jin sighs. ‘If something happens on your grounds again, please, first bring the assailant to us, and then—’ He makes a gun gesture with his hand and makes a shooting sound with his fingers. ‘Poof.’

As soon as the air leaves his lips, a most peculiar thing happens — there’s a sound of a cocking gun in complete silence, and in a few seconds it takes for Yoongi’s reflexes to kick in, three things happen.

First, there are two gunshots, and the guards behind Kibum fall to the ground.

Second, the third remaining guard drops the gun he used to dispose of his comrades and pulls out a knife, raising his hand to throw it in the Namjoon’s direction. Yoongi’s gun is already out, and he can see Seunghyun react in a second and place himself between the attacker and Namjoon, reaching for his own knife.

A third thing happens as if in slow motion — there’s a sound of breaking glass, and Yoongi watches a thin figure jump into the room and throw itself on the guard, biting into his neck and burying a dagger in his side.

The resulting confusion and pain make the man scream out and drop his weapon, and Johnny appears at his side, knocking him out with one smooth motion.

The figure jumps off just in time not to fall to the ground, and makes a whining sound. Her long hair is messed up, and there’s blood dripping down her chin.

‘Why would you do that?!’ She screams out, her small fist clenched around a bloody knife. ‘I wanted to kill him.’

‘I figured,’ Johnny murmurs, crouching next to the unconscious man. ‘And we need him alive.’

Yoongi lets out a breath. The threat is gone, and he looks around, noting that everyone is standing now, and there are at least three people around Namjoon, hiding him from sight. There’s a touch on Yoongi’s shoulder, and he turns around to see Jungkook with a grim expression on his face. He didn’t even notice when he moved to cover Hades from the threat, and he thanks his instincts.

‘Thank you, Ares,’ Jungkook says quietly and walks around the table to get to Namjoon. ‘You alright, brother?’

‘Yes,’ Zeus says in a deep voice. It’s full of anger. ‘Hestia, I thought you weren’t coming.’

Hyuna offers Hestia a silk handkerchief, and they exchange a smile which, frankly, is terrifying, considering the blood on Hestia’s lips and the hungry look Hyuna is giving them. Yoongi almost shudders.

‘Well, someone had to save your ass, big brother,’ Hestia sing-songs.

She jumps on the table, gracefully landing on her heels, and Yoongi for the hundredth time wonders whether gravity even applies to her.

‘Yoon-Yoon,’ she calls out happily, going his way, and he helps her get off the table by the waist.

‘Lisa,’ he greets her, and they kiss on the cheek. She smells of wind and blood, and it’s familiar. ‘You could’ve walked around the table, sunshine.’

‘And where’s the fun in that?’ She asks playfully.

They’re distracted by a loud voice, and Yoongi automatically reaches for his gun. They turn around, and Yoongi frowns.

‘Tell me why are your fucking guards attacking Zeus?!’ It’s Seokjin, his face livid and red, pointing his hand at unbothered Taemin who seems to be counting to hundred in his head.

‘Well, you fucking appointed those guards,’ Taemin grits through his teeth. ‘Handpicked them and assigned them to my shop. Or what, you wanted them to attack me?’

They’re standing so close Yoongi fears someone will pull out a weapon, and more so, use it. There’s a beat of silence where they’re trying to knockout the other with their gaze, but Yoongi knows how it will end — nothing will happen. Seokjin can’t undermine himself by threatening Taemin, and Taemin can’t hurt Seokjin without signing his own death sentence. He wonders whether Seokjin’s hatred for Taemin is fueled by the fact that Hera is supposed to be Zeus’ consort, but it doesn’t make any sense — Namjoon had never shown any interest in Taemin, and Seokjin’s jealousy doesn’t have any grounds. And still, they’re standing across from each other, faces angry.

‘Taemin is not at fault, Jin,’ Namjoon says at last. ‘And neither are you. This is an anomaly.’

It’s like something snaps in the air, and Taemin looks away to go sit next to Kibum who’s measuring Seokjin with his eyes. He makes a barely-there gesture to caress Taemin’s hand in support.

‘Well, that was freaky,’ Hobi says, appearing with two bottles of wine. ‘Some ambrosia to calm thy tits?’

 

/

 

Johnny and Seunghyun get the bodies out and return twenty minutes later after disposing of them and getting the alive one to Jiyong. By the time they come into the parlor, sweat and drops of blood on their foreheads, the atmosphere is back to normal. It used to be usual for them to get attacked right in the middle of the meeting, and it shows how they never truly left those times behind them in the way they’re now more calm and collected. Hestia is lounging on the chair, her hands in Hyuna‘s hair. Yoongi looks around again, trying to wrap his head around what just happened. Are they truly safe? Are the grounds truly clear from any foes? Did they really do a good job of cleaning it up? They were attacked at their own meeting, for fuck’s sake.

‘You know,’ Lucas drawls out, a little reserved because Seunghyun is standing close to him. ‘Maybe, we shouldn’t have referred to the disposables as we did right in front of one of them.’

‘It wasn’t something he didn’t know already.’ Jungkook shrugs. ‘All of them know it. Like you, Hermes. Before you started being useful, you knew you’re not that valuable, right?’

‘Tru dat,’ Lucas nods and stays silent. Yoongi’s noticed that death affects him more than most people in their circle, and he almost feels sorry for the guy until he remembers that Lucas has a crush on a guy who dabbles in actual dark magic, so.

‘Anyway, back to the point,’ Seokjin says, rubbing his face. He looks exhausted, and it’s such a new look on him that it’s unsettling. ‘The first part of our plan came alive pretty quickly — we’ve delivered a specimen to Hypnos. What do we do next? No matter what Jiyong’s verdict is, the problem still stands.’

‘Seokjin proposed the joining of forces the other day,’ Jungkook says, referring to the conversation Yoongi told him about. ‘I think we should start from here.’

‘I agree.’ Namjoon nods. ‘Separately, we have a lot of power, but together, we can bring about even more of it.’

‘It’s not about power, Joonie,’ Seokjin says quietly. ‘It’s about protecting ourselves.’

There’s a beat of silence, but Yoongi doesn’t have time to wonder what it’s about because Hoseok is leaning forwards and sighs.

‘Alrighty, then, we merge our power for a while. I volunteer to be the ‘civilians’ spokesperson,’ he suggests, pursing his lips. ‘It’s easier for me to get to them and relay the news than it’s for you, anyway.’

‘Thanatos is already aware of everything,’ Yoongi says hesitantly. ‘So you can skip him.’

‘Excuse me?’ Hobi raises his eyebrows, and Yoongi holds his breath. He hopes Hoseok is smart enough to figure everything out on his own without Yoongi having to announce it before everyone. ‘Did you go over my head on my territory?’

‘No, I just needed him to look out for someone for me,’ Yoongi says through his teeth, desperately hoping for Hoseok to catch up already. ‘Because you’re too busy for that one tiny task.’

They’re drilling each other with their eyes, and Yoongi is honestly this close to snapping, but finally!, there’s an understanding in Poseidon’s look, and he leans back in his chair.

‘Oh, that.’ He nods and looks down. ‘Yeah, sorry for almost getting angry at you.’

Yoongi nods to him and looks at the people around him. Half of them are confused, and half are interested. The only people looking like they know what’s going on is Jungkook and, of course, Seokjin. The latter takes the lead and smiles.

‘I think it’s acceptable for the Poseidon to be the representative of the civilians — people who are from our circles but still prefer to keep to the lawful citizens charade. Voting?’

Yoongi has forgotten about this thing they used to do — voting. He raises his hand and watches how one by one everyone by the table agrees. Seokjin nods, content.

‘We also need the connecting people between the gangs,’ Hwitaek says. ‘I’m sure there’ll be more meetings, but we can’t attend them always, so perhaps we need to appoint someone who will keep everyone up to date.’

‘Also, who’s going to be joining us?’ Hyojong asks lazily from where his chin is propped on his hand. ‘I believe this one is a major meeting, but we need to have more executives at the wheel to make this whole thing work.’

‘To be announced,’ Jungkook says calmly. ‘I still need to double-check all my stakeholders’ integrity.’

‘You don’t trust people who hold your empire together?’ Hestia wonders, her high voice sweet and innocent.

‘No, and I’d be a fool to do,’ Kook deadpans, and Lisa giggles in response. ‘I only trust a selected few, and half of them are already in this room.’

‘I’m with Guk on this one,’ Namjoon says, and Yoongi doesn’t miss how Jungkook subtly flinches at the old nickname. It’s probably not easy — to feel like your brother still refers to you like a little kid when you have an empire to rival his own. ‘For now, it’s only people who are in this room. We’ll be adding others one by one and report them to each other through Hermes.’

‘Seems fair.’ Yoongi nods and sighs. ‘I presume I am the spokesperson of the Underworld?’

He turns to Jungkook, who nods.

‘I’m already known as the Olympus’ one, so—’ Seokjin starts, but Jungkook cuts him off.

‘I’d prefer someone else,’ he says calmly. ‘No offense.’

‘None taken,’ Seokjin grits through his teeth, and it’s obvious he’s lying. ‘Then, I will appoint someone, and they will meet with you.’

‘Excellent. Try to find someone unbiased,’ Jungkook asks without looking up from the table.

Yoongi knows Jungkook doesn’t particularly trust Jin, but he's never shown such an apparent distaste before. What changed?

‘Now what?’ Hyuna asks lazily. Her hands are playing with Lisa’s fingers. ‘We just go home and wait for Hypnos to report?’

‘No,’ Seokjin says. ‘Everybody has to put down a list of guards to serve on the respective territory. I’m curious to see what our attacker will do when his specimens are out of their familiar zone. Voting?’

It’s becoming slightly annoying already, but Yoongi raises his hand nevertheless. It’s probably ridiculous for him because he’s the first time he’s actually participating in this system but all the others seem unbothered.

‘Ares, this one’s for you, too,’ Hades says, and Yoongi nods. It makes sense seeing as he’s one of the few who has dozens of their guard dogs memorized.

Seokjin pulls out a laptop and opens it, sliding it to the center of the table.

‘I think that is it for now.’ He nods. The air comes alive as people stand up. ‘Ares, Poseidon, Dionysus, and I will make up a list. The rest are free to go. Meeting adjourned.’

People don’t disperse at once — they start gathering in groups, catching up and exchanging news. Hwitaek goes for the laptop to put down his guards, and Yoongi stands up just in time to see Mark looking at him pleadingly. Yoongi sighs.

‘You don’t have to ask for my permission,’ he says quietly, and Mark smiles. God, he’s such a kid.

Mark goes around the table to the already waiting Seokjin and hugs him so tightly that Jin leans back a bit. Mnemosyne smiles, wrapping his arms around the boy, and burying his face in his hair. Watching him interact with the Muses, especially the one that already left his home, always reminds Yoongi how essentially human Seokjin is.

‘Hello, Euterpe,’ Seokjin says softly. ‘Have you been well?’

‘Yes, Mnemosyne,’ Mark chuckles without looking up. ‘I’ve missed you.’

‘No regrets, remember?’ Jin says, smiling, but there’s a sad expression on his face.

‘Yes, I know, I chose it,’ Mark whines. ‘It doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt not seeing you and the boys all the time. How are they?’

Yoongi turns away then, feeling like he’s prying. He catches a glimpse of Johnny and wonders whether Janus feels guilty for essentially ripping Mark away from his home. But then again, Mark chose it.

‘Athene,’ he calls out, coming up to Seunghyun and shaking his hand. ‘It’s been a while.’

Seunghyun chuckles, putting a hand through his silver hair. It’s fading now, and there’s a new tattoo on his neck. He looks conflicted.

‘That’s true,’ he sighs. ‘How have you been?’

It’s now that Yoongi remembers how close they actually used to be. He assesses his friend’s face and squints his eyes.

‘Do you have time to talk? In private?’

Seunghyun looks back to where Seokjin is talking to Mark and Namjoon quietly exchanges words with Hoseok and Jungkook.

‘I need to escort the royals to the headquarters,’ he murmurs. ‘But I can meet you on the roof in thirty minutes?’

‘Sounds good.’ Yoongi nods. ‘We have a lot to talk about.’

‘Yeah,’ Seunghyun chuckles. ‘I actually kinda need your advice.’

Yoongi raises his eyebrows.

‘Sure, anything.’ He nods and slaps him gently on the shoulder. ‘I’ll see you on the roof.’

Seunghyun goes away then, and Yoongi turns away to see Hyojong standing so closely he almost reaches for his gun on instincts. Hyojong notices it and smiles softly.

‘I didn’t mean to startle you, Ares.’ He inclines his head, and his golden hair falls to his eyes. An Apollo, truly. ‘But I wanted to ask you about something.’

His hesitant tone, and the way he worries his lips, tell Yoongi exactly what he needs to know. He sighs.

‘He’s fine. Got injured some time ago, so that’s why he’s not here today,’ he says quietly. He can see Hyuna listening on the side. ‘I’m sorry.’

Hyojong nods and scratches his neck.

‘Could you please tell him that we miss him? And that we’re sorry?’ He murmurs, looking up at last.

‘He knows that, Apollo.’ Yoongi closes his eyes briefly. ‘He just needs time. But I will tell him.’

‘Thank you.’ Hyojong smiles gently, and Yoongi can see the traits of the brothel manager on the lines of his soft face. ‘Come visit us sometime. We have something that can soothe your aching soul.’

Yoongi’s first instinct is to grab Hyojong by the throat and ask exactly how much he knows, but Hyuna steps closer at this and puts her hand on his clenched fist. Her hands are cold but in a soft calming way.

‘We do this for a living, Yoongi,’ she whispers. ‘It’s not obvious for everyone else, but we see that you have someone on your mind that won’t let go.’

Yoongi looks into her eyes, and it calms him down somehow. Hyuna has an aura to her, a soothing and comforting one. Alluring and welcoming for friends, deadly for foes.

‘We’re not saying that our little devils will make them go away.’ She looks at his forehead kindly like she can see all the images of Jimin in his mind. ‘But they can numb the pain.’

Yoongi intertwines their fingers and squeezes her palm gently.

‘I’ll think about it.’ He nods and takes his hand away.

Hyuna smiles and takes Hyojong by the hand. Hwitaek joins them, done with his list.

‘Goodnight, Ares,’ they say in unison, and it would be creepy for the people who don’t know them. He nods, and they leave in a blur of Hyuna’s silk dress, disappearing through the back door leading to the Olympus grounds. Lisa follows them with her gaze, and he wants to ask what’s on her mind, but he knows better.

He rubs his face, thinking about how exhausted one meeting has made him. He wants to curl up and sleep for a week, but he still has a night shift at the apartment, and somehow it makes him feel elevated and not more tired. He refuses to analyze that.

‘Yoongi.’ Kibum slaps him on the shoulder. ‘Not dead yet, aye?’

‘Same goes for you,’ Yoongi chuckles and looks up to see the duo stand side by side. ‘How’ve you been?’

‘Still kicking.’ Taemin shrugs with one shoulder. Yoongi sees the remnants of the previous argument in the creases of his face. ‘Unfortunately for some people.’

‘Ah, I thought you weren’t affected by this anymore?’ He jokes.

‘Well, I’m not an angel, although I may look like one,’ Taemin snorts and points to his hands. ‘Wanna something new?’

Yoongi looks down on his hands where his tattoos are under the clothes and smiles.

‘I’ll probably visit you for that very soon.’ He nods.

‘We’ll be waiting.’ Kibum nods and takes Taemin by the hand. ‘Now let’s go, virgin, we need to clean up the glass and open the shop for the night.’

‘Bye, Yoons.’ Taemin waves his hand and turns around, giving Kibum cuff on the nape. ‘Stop calling me a virgin, asshole.’

Yoongi laughs quietly and goes to the table where Hobi is finishing up with putting his people on the list.

‘Hey, mighty warrior,’ Hoseok says without looking up.

Yoongi rolls his eyes, propping his ass on the table.

‘How did you know it was me?’

‘You have this aura.’ Hobi makes a gesture with his hand. ‘People immediately want to choke when you come near them.’

Yoongi slaps him on the head.

‘Bitch,’ he says, not without affection. ‘How are things?’

‘Eh, boring mostly.’ Hoseok shrugs without looking up. ‘For some reason, there are no rebels among the students that I look over.’

‘They’re already dead inside,’ Yoongi muses and then lowers his voice. ‘Hey, sorry I didn’t tell you about the whole Thanatos business beforehand.’

At this, Hobi looks up and smiles softly.

‘It’s ok, man, I understand,’ he says and claps his hand. ‘Alright, I’m all done here. Bros?’

Yoongi sits up to quickly fill out the spreadsheet Seokjin has pulled up. He looks through it quickly, seeing a lot of familiar names, but also a lot of new ones. Yeah, Olympus and Hoseok really expanded since the last time he checked. He draws up a list of two dozens names from the top of his head and closes the laptop to give back to Seokjin who’s still talking to Mark. Jin turns to him before Yoongi even can say anything, and once again — he’d be creeped out if he didn’t spend the majority of his life surrounded by these people.

‘Email the whole list to Taeyong, please,’ he asks and looks at Mark. ‘Ready to go?’

Mark frowns and shoots a quick look at Seokjin.

‘Actually, could I—’ he stutters but then takes a breath and continues with a steady voice. Yoongi’s proud of him. ‘I was wondering if I can spend the night at Olympus? I kinda want to see the boys.’

Yoongi doesn’t let himself sigh, because, with as much as he’s been doing it tonight, his lungs are about to give out, and he needs those for smoking.

‘Sure.’ He nods. ‘Do you want to take Johnny with you?’

It’s not exactly an option, but he still phrases it as such. Johnny appears by his side immediately, and the only reason Yoongi doesn’t flinch is because he’s trained him to be this way.

‘Sure.’ Mark nods happily and goes to the entrance.

Yoongi snorts at his eagerness and turns to Johnny to give him a half hug.

‘Don’t leave his side,’ he whispers and looks into Johnny’s eyes. Janus doesn’t need an explanation, just nods and goes after Mark, disappearing into the room where the Moirai keep watch of those who wish to enter the Olympus. He needs to visit those guys sometime.

‘Goodnight, Ares.’ Seokjin nods and goes to leave.

‘Nothing else?’ Yoongi asks, almost regretting it immediately. There’s still blood on the floor. He can feel it sticking to his boots.

Seokjin turns around, his tired eyes puffy. Yoongi wonders when was the last time the mighty Mnemosyne slept well.

‘I have nothing more to say to you for now, Ares,’ he says quietly and inclines his head. ‘Farewell, dear friend. I’ll see you on the other side.’

Yoongi watches as he comes up to where the brothers are standing and touches Namjoon’s shoulder. Namjoon’s attention snaps to him so fast that Yoongi wonders if it’s a reflex. They exchange quiet words, and Namjoon nods.

‘Shall we continue this at my office?’ He says to Hoseok and Jungkook.

Kook turns to Yoongi and raises his eyebrows.

‘I’ll send a car for you,’ Yoongi says, already pulling out his phone and texting one of their drivers. ‘I need to take care of some business.’

They both know what he means, and Hades nods, waving his hand.

‘I’ll see you at home,’ he says quietly, and they all go for the entrance.

Yoongi exchanges a look with Seunghyun, and Athene nods before following his bosses.

He looks around, realizing that Hermes and Hestia have left at some point while he was making his rounds. He comes outside, saying his last goodbye to Taemin and Kibum who’re cleaning up while bickering quietly.

The night air is refreshing on his skin. He checks the time — the meeting seemed short, but it took over an hour. He goes over all the events of the evening while dialing Wooseok’s number. God, he needs a drink. Instead, he lights a cigarette.

It takes three rings for someone to pick up, and the voice that answers his calls almost makes him choke up on smoke.

‘So you’re alive.’ His voice is soft and mocking, but there’s some hidden emotion that Yoongi can’t decipher. ‘Can’t say I’m not disappointed.’

‘Aphrodite,’ Yoongi says before he can help himself.

‘I’m not—’ Jimin stutters and sighs. ‘I’m not it. Please, don’t.’

‘Sorry.’ Yoongi flinches. ‘Are you okay? Where’s Wooseok?’

‘They’ve occupied our console,’ Jimin sighs, and Yoongi guesses he puts the phone away from his ear because there are screams and sounds of Troy Baker’s voice asking for weapons. Then it’s muffled, and he can hear Jimin breathing. It’s rather soothing. Yoongi closes his eyes and takes a drag. ‘They’ve been trying to get past the Songbird for the past hour. It’s exhausting.’

‘Ah, constants and variables and all that shit,’ Yoongi chuckles.

‘You know Bioshock?’ Jimin’s voice is surprised, and Yoongi feels a weird teenage thrill from knowing something about the shit his crush likes. Wow, so he’s admitting it’s a crush. Interesting.

‘You’d be surprised how boring it can get in the criminal world,’ Yoongi murmurs. ‘Anyway, is everything okay over there?’

‘Yeah,’ Jimin sighs, and Yoongi hears him move away from the living room. He imagines him in the half-lit kitchen, propping his hip against the kitchen counter, the light from the living room illuminating the side of his face. He probably looks angelic. God, Yoongi is pathetic. ‘Taehyung keeps mentioning how much he misses Jungkook.’

‘Same here,’ Yoongi chuckles. ‘You can tell him I’m planning on taking him to the Underworld the next weekend. I know it’s like six days away, but it’s the closest we can do seeing as— the things now.’

There’s a beat of silence.

‘How was the meeting?’

‘Eventful,’ Yoongi sighs deeply and takes a drag. ‘You wouldn’t believe how many shit happened in the span of seventy minutes. There’s an actual body count.’

‘Well, we ate like two pounds of takeout and Jinho almost demobilized Wooseok for cheating at Scrabbles,’ Jimin shares, and Yoongi is so fucking grateful for the boy trying to distract him even if he doesn’t intend on doing it. He laughs so loudly that it scares him. It’s also not really safe, so he shuts up and takes another drag.

‘Alright, you win.’ He smiles.

There’s another silence, and he thinks that maybe Jimin hung up, but then there’s a sigh and he talks again, his voice quiet. Yoongi imagines him fiddling with the hem of his sweater.

‘Listen, I don’t want to apologize for the way I behaved when we first met,’ he starts and chuckles. ‘Can you blame me? I mean, I was surrounded by criminals, and my best friend is in love with one of them, and like I’ve never really despised you guys or anything? I just don’t think it’s a safe environment. But today has been strange, in a good way, and it made me see that I don’t mind playing house with murderers. I’m just selfish as all hell, and I’m scared it will damage Taehyung or me somehow.’

‘I’d say that we’ll protect you,’ Yoongi sighs, a little put off by this word flow. ‘But I don’t think it’s what you want to hear.’

‘No, it’s not,’ Jimin snorts. Man, can that guy even get derailed? ‘What I want to say is that I’m not saying I’ve changed my mind overnight. As soon as I see Taehyung not being comfortable or safe, I’m doing everything in my power to get him out and damage your gang in any way I can.’

‘Seems fair.’ Yoongi clicks his tongue. ‘What’s the point, Jiminnie?’

‘The point is for you to stop giving me nicknames,’ Jimin growls, and Yoongi is a weak man — it sends something down his spine. ‘No, okay, the real point is that I’ll try to be civil. If you promise to not threaten me with knives and shit.’

Yoongi can’t help it, he laughs again, and it makes something inside of him float — the way Jimin can make him elevated. Ugh. Disgusting.

‘I’ll try, too,’ he promises.

‘Good. Because look, I don’t mean to start anything, but Jinho is so adorable I want to protect him,’ Jimin shares, his voice whiny.

‘I know, right?’ Yoongi answers breathlessly. ‘The kid is annoying and deadly, but he can get so adorable I have a hard time remembering I’m supposed to be the mentor here. I want to give him lollipops instead of knives.’

Jimin breaks out laughing, and Yoongi bites his lips to keep from smiling. God, this is getting out of hand.

‘Anyway, I have another small meeting with an old friend in twenty minutes, and then I’ll head to your place,’ he informs Jimin, putting his cigarette out on the wall.

‘Alright,’ Jimin says, still breathless, and there’s a sound of the doorbell ringing. ‘Oh, shoot, I gotta get that.’

Yoongi sobers up immediately.

‘Are you expecting someone?’

‘Unclench, it’s my boyfriend,’ Jimin snorts, and Yoongi feels sourness in his mouth. Of course. The boyfriend.

‘Don’t forget to look into the peephole,’ he says, trying to mask the sudden bitterness he feels.

‘Sure, sure,’ Jimin answers, his voice already distracted. ‘Don’t die on your way here.’

He doesn’t even wait for Yoongi to respond before hanging up, and Yoongi looks at the phone in his hand. He swallows. He really shouldn’t, oh how much he shouldn’t.

He sighs. The car pulls out by the curb, and he nods to the driver that’s here to pick up Jungkook.

Seunghyun is supposed to meet him in fifteen minutes, so Yoongi heads for the backyard to get to the roof. His mind goes over the events of tonight, and he wonders whether he’ll ever have a day without having to see people die. Probably, in some other lifetime.

He reminds himself to call Taeyong when he gets to the roof, and then his minds goes to the soft light hair and morning tea.

And if he smiles softly to himself, there’s nobody to see it — the night covers him like an old friend.

 

V

 

Jungkook looks around the office, for the twentieth time thinking how grateful he is that Namjoon moved his headquarters from the father’s old lodging. Too many memories, too much blood in the walls, too many screams in the air.

‘I like this,’ he says quietly and sits down across from Namjoon near his desk.

‘Thank you.’ Joon nods, smiling.

Jungkook can’t deny that he missed his brother. They’ve never been close by the regular family standards, but Jungkook learned early on that it was better to stick with Namjoon rather than with his father. They say that he looks just like his mother, but he only has the pictures to confirm that. As a kid, he used to spend hours studying Mom’s photos to find the similarities between them and trying to understand why his father didn’t like looking at him if he loved his wife so much it hurt him immensely when she died giving birth. Father, a cold and distant man, never hid the fact that he despised his younger son, didn’t understand the middle one, and feared the older. They were always destined to take over for him, yet he kept desperately clinging to his power until the day he died. His last words were that they can never be as good as him yet here they are — the living proof that he was wrong. Their empires stronger than they ever were under Cronus, people that actually love and respect them on top of fearing them, and the order so strict it never gives any faults. Until now. Was the father right? Is his mentality reaching beyond the grave to prove them wrong? Or are they just delusional fools who thought that their city could be changed in only nine years?

‘Dad’s probably cackling right now,’ Hoseok says from where he’s lounging on the couch. Perhaps, he’s thinking the same thing as Jungkook.

‘You know, I can actually see him do that,’ Namjoon chuckles, leaning back in his chair and closing his eyes. ‘Fixing those awful cufflinks of his and chuckling. God, I hated the man.’

‘Who didn’t?’ Jungkook wonders out loud.

‘True,’ Hoseok agrees and snickers. ‘Yeah, we’re awful children.’

‘The seed of the man.’ Namjoon shrugs. He’s right. Who could expect them to grow up kind and good when their father ruled over the worst and made sure to be the evilest one.

They stay silent for some time, and Jungkook thinks about Taehyung. He’s not surprised — after the separation, his mind goes out to the boy every time he gets a free minute. He wonders whether Taehyung misses him too. He wonders whether he regrets something. He thinks about Seokjin — the man who was always part of their life and never had to give up anything to be with Namjoon.

‘Ggukie,’ Namjoon calls out, and Jungkook looks up to see his brother watching him attentively. ‘You want to talk about him?’

Jungkook knows he’s a good actor, and most people wouldn’t notice the way he goes still and on alert. He’s not surprised Namjoon knows. But he’s wary of what it could mean.

‘Do you?’ He wonders, tilting his head. ‘I don’t remember you being much of a gossiper.’

Namjoon laughs, putting his hands on his chest. Jungkook hates how much it reminds him of their father.

‘I’m curious as to who’s making my little brother happy.’ Namjoon shrugs, his dimples prominent.

‘Yes, by the way.’ Hobi sits up. ‘It’s been, what, three months? And we’ve met for like ten times since. Yet you refuse to give up the deets.’

Jungkook groans, feeling like a teenager being pestered by his siblings again. He rubs his face.

‘It’s just a safety precaution. He’s a civilian, and the fewer people know about him for now, the better,’ he explains, rubbing his hands together. It’s not a good excuse, but it’s the best he can give them now.

‘At least show us a picture.’ Hobi pouts, and Jungkook laughs.

‘I don’t have any.’ He shrugs. ‘It’s not safe to keep them on my phone, and anyway, I have a good memory, I remember how he looks like.’

‘Ugh, boring.’ Hoseok falls back down on the couch and closes his eyes. ‘Can’t believe I came all the way here to be deprived of some dirt on my baby bro.’

‘You can come around sometime and meet him.’ Kook nods.

‘Doesn’t he live in the separate apartment now?’ Namjoon asks, smiling, but his lips turn grim as soon as they all realize what he just said.

‘How do you know that?’ Kook squints his eyes, trying to analyze his brother’s face.

Namjoon sighs, looking down, and Jungkook is delighted to see he looks slightly guilty.

‘Unbelievable,’ he grits through his teeth. ‘Couldn’t you at least have told your lapdog to not spy on an innocent boy? I don’t give a fuck if Seokjin knows every dirty little thing about me, but I swear on our father’s grave, Namjoon, if he even comes close to Taehyung — I will personally hunt him down and skin him, and damn the consequences.’

It’s tense now, Hobi not moving and looking at his brothers. Jungkook isn’t taking his eyes off Namjoon’s.

‘It’s inevitable, Ggukie,’ Joon says quietly. His fingers are intertwined on the table. ‘If you truly love this boy, and I can see you do, don’t even try denying it— Well, it’s obvious that sooner or later he will become a part of the gang, and, consequently, a new figure on the board for Mnemosyne to look out for.’

‘For Mnemosyne, or for Zeus?’ Jungkook spits out. ‘Tell me, who’s really in charge here? Whose orders does Jin follow when he’s making his webs? Because I know more shit than any people outside of this room, Joon.’

‘Ggukie,’ Hoseok tries to warn him, his voice quite and hands held up. ‘Don’t fight.’

‘I’m not fighting,’ Jungkook chuckles sarcastically. He hates how riled up his family can get him in a matter of minutes. ‘I’m just stating the facts. Did you really call me in here to ask how I’ve been? Or are you trying to calculate if your reign will be threatened once Taehyung is Persephone?’

‘I’m just looking out for the family,’ Namjoon says quietly. Jungkook can see that he’s getting angrier by the minute, but he doesn’t care — Joon never liked hearing the ugly truth about himself, and Kook never liked holding back.

‘No, you’re looking out for yourself,’ he seethes. ‘That’s what you’ve always been doing. Always greedy, always craving more, always scared someone will take away your power. Well, Joonie...’

He stands up and fixes his cufflinks — just like their father liked to do. He walks over the table and leans over his brother.

‘I told you this once before, and I’m telling you this again because it’s been years, but it still hasn’t changed,’ he says quietly, powerfully. ‘I don’t need your land. I earned my own, and it’s enough for me. I don’t plan on taking you down unless you try to take _me_ down.’

He anticipates the blow, so it’s not too hard to stop Namjoon’s hand in the air. He knows Joonie never meant to hit him, just scare a little, but it’s been years since he was a kid that was intimidated by his big brother.

‘Next time use a gun if you really want a result,’ he says and walks away. If Yoongi did his job, and he always does, there’s already a car waiting for him outside _SHINee_.

‘I love you, Ggukie. I hope you never forget this.’

He stops before the door, sighing.

‘I love you too, Joonie,’ he throws over his shoulder. ‘And I never forget. Goodnight.’

He opens the door and walks out, hearing Hoseok stand up.

‘I’ll walk you out,’ he says hastily. ‘See ya, Joon.’

They walk down the corridor to the Moirai office, where Jinki, Minho, and Jonghyun are playing cards over a bottle of absent.

‘Very professional,’ Hobi snorts.

‘Fuck off, or I'll cut you,' Jonghyun throws over his shoulder without looking up from his cards. 'Both literally and figuratively.'

'I'm literally his boss,' Hoseok whispers when they're out of the office and in the tattoo parlor. 'Listen, bro, maybe you shouldn't be picking fights with Joonie when we have all these issues.'

'Hobi, I love you, but stop treating me like a toddler,' Jungkook sighs. They're out on the street now, and he sees a familiar car. 'I'm not a kid anymore, and I won't stand and take it while he's trying to get his hand in every part of my life.'

Hoseok sighs, rubbing his face.

'It's been a long fucking day.' He looks up and smiles. 'And listen, if it's worth anything, I'm happy for you.'

'It's worth a whole lot.' Jungkook smiles, feeling elevated. It feels good to have at least one of his brothers genuinely happy for him. 'And I really love Taehyung, Hobi.'

'Kim Taehyung, huh?' Hoseok clicks his tongue. 'You sure know how to pick them.'

'You know him?' Jungkook wonders. It's a difference from how he reacted to Namjoon having information about Tae because he knows that Hoseok will never use it for leverage.

'I know everyone at the university.' Hoseok shrugs. 'Including him and his best friend. He attends my dance class, you know.'

'Don't tell Yoongi.' Kook flinches. 'You'll never hear the end of it.'

They both laugh, and Hobi hugs him, holding him close and sighing.

'Be well, brother.'

'You too.'

They part ways after promising to keep in touch, and Jungkook gets into the car.

'Where to, boss?' The driver asks, and Jungkook almost says home before a thought comes to him.

' _Blackpink_ casino,' he says and leans back.

He might as well start making his loyalty test rounds right now. Starting with Tyche and Nemesis.

 

V

‘How’s Hypnos?’ Yoongi asks quietly when Athene joins him on the rooftop.

There’s silence, and he turns to look at Seunghyun, worry on his mind.

‘You’re still together, right?’ He wonders, just to be sure.

Seunghyun chuckles and nods.

‘Yeah, we’re okay, it’s just—’ he cuts himself off and takes a drag of his cigarette. ‘I think he’s using again.’

It sends Yoongi down an elaborate memory lane.

Jiyong came around sometime after Cronus had died. An exceptionally bright kid, got kicked out of med school for being way too talented with pills and shit. Started cooking and dealing, and being extremely good at it. They met him when Zeus asked them to collect a package, and as far as Yoongi knows, Seunghyun has been smitten since. They fit each other so well — where Seunghyun is reserved and quiet, Jiyong is loud and bright. Seunghyun is smart in a strategic way that allows him to plan elaborate heists and divide limited weapon supplies when they’re surrounded by people who want to murder them; he always has a plan, and always has a way out. Jiyong, on the other hand, is a medical genius, so adept in chemistry and physics and whatever else shit you have to know to be good in making drugs, that he can literally cook up any excellent hitup in twenty minutes. He’s not fazed by a gun pointing at him because he knows that at any given point there will appear a tattooed hand that’ll snap the neck of anyone who tries to hurt him. Brain and brawn being so in love it is almost gross. Yoongi wishes he had something like that — that kind of trust, the one that doesn’t go with family, he has enough of that with Jungkook and Taeyong; no, the one that promises a warm embrace and a soft touch.

They didn’t exactly lose touch after Hades came around, but they stopped seeing each other every other day.

The first time they actually met after the not-a-fall-out was at 3 am on a Thursday in Zeus’ old headquarters. Seunghyun called him up and asked to meet, and there was such urgency in his voice that told Yoongi there’s no point in complaining about his sleep deprivation.

When he arrived and saw what was waiting for him, he suddenly thought of those ancient paintings in museums. Seunghyun was sitting on the road with unconscious Jiyong on his lap, his arms trembling and his face painted with terror.

That was exactly what Yoongi saw — a terrified man that was about to lose everything he held dear. Held, literally. Yoongi saw a lot of ODs in his life, and as he looked at Jiyong’s face, he knew what happened.

At some point, just dealing became boring for Jiyong. A sniff here, an injection there, and before Seunghyun could do something about it, his boyfriend was an addict. In their life, you either deal or use, no in-betweens, and Jiyong had majorly fucked up.

 _‘I can’t show him to our people,’_ Seunghyun had sobbed. _‘They can’t know_.’

Seokjin knows, Yoongi thought. He always does.

But then, he just sighed and stole a car for them to get into. There was, and still is, a small clinic on the outskirts of Underworld that helps their people. Yoongi arrived with a man close to death, and left with empty pockets and a few favors owed that ensured the whole thing wouldn’t reach Zeus.

He still thinks it did anyway because once again, Seokjin always knows, but there were no repercussions. Hypnos had survived and kept working for Zeus as his little pharmacist. Seunghyun once told Yoongi that Jiyong kept muttering something about guilt and wanting to forget, but later on, he never showed any signs over feeling like what they do is wrong.

Most importantly, he stayed clean. Until now, apparently.

‘Why do you think so?’ He asks, looking at the unlit cigarette in his fingers. He can’t find his lighter. It was his favorite one.

Seunghyun sighs and offers him his.

‘He’s being weird, just like the last time.’ He fidgets and lights his own smoke. ‘But last time I knew what was going on, and he promised it was okay. This time I don’t know shit.’

Yoongi stays silent, thinking it over. He’s literally the last person to give romantic advice, seeing that his own kinda-crush literally just agreed to stop hating him. He talks anyway.

‘Have you tried talking to him about it?’ He turns to Seughyun who shakes his head.

‘I don’t want him to think I don’t trust him,’ he says. Yoongi purses his lips.

‘Well, do you? Trust him?’

‘Yes.’ There’s not an ounce of hesitation in Seunghyun’s voice, and it almost makes Yoongi smile. Almost, because a second later Seunghyun sighs and rubs his eyes. ‘But I don’t trust the job to keep him unaffected. You know how it is.’

Yoongi does, and it makes him slightly sad. Because yes, he never particularly had a choice yet he loves his life, and he is wired for it, and he’s content with who and what he is. Seunghyun is too, and no matter how unlikely it seems, so is Jiyong. He was always softer and more pliant than them, yet he still fits into their lifestyle perfectly. As fucked up as it sounds, even his addiction makes some sense. A guy, basically a pharmaceutical prodigy, making the best drugs on both sides of the river? He’s bound to get hooked at some point. It’s just that Yoongi had thought he had his share and it was enough.

‘Look,’ he sighs. ‘I don’t know him half as good as you do, but I know that the guy loves you and will be honest if you ask. All you need to do is actually start a conversation.’

He sees that it’s not what Seunghyun wants to hear before he finishes speaking, but their dynamic is built around handling guns and knives, and not feelings. Hobi is probably more equipped to deal with shit like that. Hell, even Jungkook would be a better love advisor that Yoongi.

‘Yeah,’ Seunghyun sighs, and Yoongi feels slightly irritated — why ask for advice if you don’t like it? ‘Maybe, you’re right. I just don’t know if I have the strength to look him in the eyes and ask whether he broke an oath he gave to me.’

‘Well, isn’t it what being in a relationship is about?’ Yoongi shrugs. He thinks about Jimin. ‘Being strong enough to fight some battles for the both of you?’

Seunghyun takes a drag and looks up. There’s a smirk on his lips.

‘That’s deep, man,’ he chuckles. Yoongi’s glad to see that some of his usual humor is back in his eyes.

‘What can I say.’ Yoongi jerks his shoulder ironically. ‘Min Yoongi, genius.’

They laugh together, and Yoongi watches the horizon. It’s hard to see it in such darkness, but he feels where it is, has it memorized thanks to the endless hours of lurking the city at night.

‘What about you?’ Seunghyun asks, squinting his eyes. ‘Any Aphrodites I should know about?’

Yoongi snorts.

‘Man, can we talk about rifles or something?’ He chuckles, trying to mask his panic.

He fails at it, apparently, because Seunghyun gasps dramatically and slaps him on the shoulder.

‘There is someone!’ He exclaims and laughs. ‘Un-fucking-believable. Mighty Ares has finally settled down.’

‘That’s bullshit,’ Yoongi murmurs, looking down. ‘He doesn’t even look at me that way.’

‘Aww, don’t be sad, the cute boy will notice you if you pull his hair.’ Seunghyun pouts theatrically, and Yoongi would punch him if it didn’t look so amusingly ridiculous.

‘Well, I already threatened to cut his throat,’ Yoongi confesses quietly, and after some silence, they both burst out laughing.

‘Ugh, your mind.’ Seunghyun puts his hands on his heart, still playing his dumb role. ‘It amazes me sometimes.’

‘You spend too much time with Hermes,’ Yoongi snickers, trying to find his breath.

He’s missed this — Athene and him being able to distract each other from anything with dumb jokes and theatrical bullshit.

‘What does he do?’ Seunghyun asks as soon as they’ve calmed down a bit.

‘He’s— uhm, he’s a civilian.’ Yoongi flinches, and he doesn’t need to turn to head to see a disbelieving look from the other hitman. ‘Yeah, I know, shut up. He’s pretty pliant about the whole criminal thing, though.’

‘Well, that’s something.’ Seunghyun shrugs, and then they’re silent again.

Yoongi listens to the night. It’s not quiet, it almost never is. He hears sounds of the life on the streets, laughing voices in the distance. If he listens closely enough, he can probably hear the sounds of Tyche’s casino. He chuckles. The life in the city doesn’t particularly care about who’s in charge, or who’s dead and who’s alive. It will always go on, and their main task here is to make sure nothing disturbs the flow of existence. They just need to keep the city whole — it will do the rest itself.

 

V

 

It’s about one in the morning by the time Yoongi arrives at the apartment. He didn’t tell Jimin this, but he has a key, and him knocking this morning was just out of politeness. He doesn’t even want to imagine what Jimin would say if he knew. Yoongi checks his watch, now set to the right time, and sighs. The triangle is illuminating the numbers, and he notes absentmindedly that he misses them showing just a simple 5:13.

Some part of him fears that Phobos and Deimos had fallen asleep, but they’re snickering quietly over Wooseok’s phone when Yoongi comes into the living room. The doors to Taehyung’s and Jimin’s rooms are closed, and somehow he feels relieved.

‘Evening,’ he says quietly, falling on the couch near the boys. He’s so exhausted it’s hard to stay upright, and the thought of spending another night awake feels bitter.

‘Night, more like,’ Jinho says, immediately relocating himself to wrap his hands around Yoongi’s shoulders. He flinches but doesn’t have the energy to push him away. ‘How was the meeting?’

‘Eventful,’ he repeats what he said to Jimin. ‘You can head home, Johnny will fill you in tomorrow.’

‘You sure?’ Wooseok says, leaning over Jinho to see Yoongi better. ‘You look dead.’

‘Thanks,’ Yoongi says dryly. ‘It’s not my first all-nighter, don’t worry.’

They both frown but don’t object. Wooseok starts gathering his things while Jinho is still clinging to Yoongi.

‘He asked about you, you know,’ he says quietly, his chin on Yoongi’s shoulder. ‘Jimin.’

‘Yeah?’ Yoongi answers as quietly, and it shows how tired he is that his mind just notes the fact bluntly without freaking out. ‘What’d he ask? More importantly, what did you answer?’

Jinho chuckles and sighs.

‘Just random stuff about how you are as the person. I sold you as good as I could.’

‘Oh, so told him about my bodycount and all the flaws I have.’ Yoongi pouts. Jinho hits him lightly on the chest.

‘Shut up, I didn’t. I told him how you’re a huge softie even though you seem all tough and your Patronus is an assault rifle.’

‘Oi,’ Yoongi exclaims quietly. ‘My Patronus is a cat.’

‘Kitty, more like,’ Wooseok notes, taking Jinho by the hand and helping him up. ‘They’re good kids, Yoons.’

‘I know,’ Yoongi sighs and closes his eyes, leaning his head back on the couch. ‘And I need to keep them that way.’

‘Do you, though?’ Jinho frowns and tilts his head.

Yoongi doesn’t answer — he’s way too tired. He waves them off and listens to their soft steps.

‘Oh, by the way,’ he calls out as an afterthought. ‘Can’t believe you suck at Bioshock so hard.’

He hears Jinho start complaining and Wooseok dragging him out of the apartment. Yoongi chuckles like a kid, feeling some of his tiredness fade away. It’s so quiet he could fall asleep, but his body is trained enough to stay on alert when he needs it to. He listens to the sounds of the apartment, hearing dripping water somewhere and reminding himself to find and fix whatever pipe’s leaking. The boys are probably already sleeping so nothing prevents Yoongi’s thought from drifting away to ponder over the events of the day. He’ll need to get that list of guards from Taeyong seeing as Yoongi is the one appointing people to certain areas of the Underworld. Maybe, he needs to visit Jiyong personally — to get that report firsthand and talk to the rogue, if he’s still alive, and to check up on Hypnos for Seunghyun’s sake. Athene doesn’t tend to overreact, so maybe he’s right about Jiyong, and all will be more clear to Yoongi as an outsider. Maybe, he should talk to Ten again? He promised Hyuna to send her regards to the man.

He finally reaches the state where his thoughts are interacting with each other without making his head buzz.

He feels the smell of burning.

‘Who the fuck are you?’

It shows how good his perception of any given situation is that he doesn’t pull out a gun immediately. He didn’t hear anyone break in, and he’s on relatively safe territory, so there’s no need to jump to defense. Yet his hand still goes to where one of his knives is hidden in his sleeve.

The guy standing in front of him when he opens his eyes is nothing short of hostile. His hands are crossed on his dark chest, and yes, he’s wearing only a pair of pajama bottoms, and there’s a suspicious expression on his face.

It takes Yoongi about three seconds to realize who he is, but his pettiness still compels him to say something equally snarky.

‘I’m a guy on the couch, and who the fuck are you?’ He raises his eyebrows. He probably should stand up, but he doesn’t give a fuck about what he guy will think of his manners. Besides, he knows for a fact he can look threatening even while sitting down.

‘Tony, what the hell,’ comes a voice from behind him, and Yoongi’s heart skips a beat at the soft voice. He despises the organ for it. They’re probably gonna have a serious talk later.

‘There’s a homeless guy on your couch,’ Tony says, turning to Jimin. His voice turns gentler, and Yoongi wants to stab him.

‘Excuse you, it’s my style,’ he deadpans. His room alone is probably three times bigger than wherever this asshole lives.

‘Man, the hell? I’m pretty sure that’s blood,’ Tony points to a dark stain on Yoongi’s jacket. He is extremely tempted to confirm Tony’s suspicion. A look from Jimin he catches has the words stuck in his throat. He pouts.

‘Please, stop judging my guest’s fashion sense,’ Jimin asks Tony, putting his hand on his arm. ‘But he’s not wrong, you know, you could at least wash it sometimes.’

‘These stains are hard to get off, and I am a busy man,’ Yoongi seethes, crossing his arms on his chest. He feels like a kid being scolded, and he’s way past that stage of his life, thank you very much.

‘Anyway,’ Jimin says pointedly. Yoongi only notices now that he’s wearing pants and a tee, and he isn’t sure whether he’s disappointed or relived. A bit of both, probably. ‘Yoongi, this is Tony, my boyfriend. Tony, this is Yoongi, Taehyung’s friend. He’s staying with us for now.’

‘So he _is_ homeless,’ Tony says triumphantly with a smug grin.

‘My apartment is under construction,’ Yoongi grits out, thinking that he’d gladly reconstruct Tony’s bones.

‘Aha,’ Tony chuckles and takes Jimin’s hand. ‘Let’s go back to bed, baby.’

He kissed the top of Jimin’s head and wraps his hand around his waist in a possessive manner. Yoongi is pointedly looking at the ceiling.

‘Goodnight, Yoongi,’ Jimin says softly, but Yoongi just nods, not trusting his voice.

He hears them walk away and waits until the door is closed to get up and knock on Taehyung’s door. There’s a soft answer, and he opens it, entering the boy’s room.

Taehyung isn’t sleeping yet, browsing something on his phone. His laptop is laying beside him, playing some anime.

‘Hey,’ he greets Yoongi, smiling softly.

‘Do you mind if I lie down here?’ Yoongi worries his lips. He’s embarrassed to ask for this, but in the course of Taehyung’s stay at the Underworld, they had often stayed up late, falling asleep together on the couch.

‘Of course, I don’t,’ Taehyung answers, frowning, and pulls his laptop aside to free some space. ‘Hop in.’

Yoongi takes off his shoes and his jacket and gets on the bed, lying down on the covers. He knows that if he gets under them, he’ll be lulled to sleep by Taehyung’s soft presence. As soon as he’s at the reachable distance, Taehyung wraps his arm around him and sighs softly into his shoulder.

‘That’s it, we cuddling.’

Yoongi laughs quietly and hugs Taehyung’s waist.

‘I really don’t mind,’ he whispers.

‘You want to talk?’ Taehyung asks, not prying, just genuinely wondering, and it makes Yoongi’s chest tighten. He’s missed this — Taehyung’s soft and calming atmosphere, and his ability to be exactly what Yoongi needs him to be at the moment.

‘Not really,’ he says, closing his eyes. He cards his hand through Taehyung’s hair, feeling his anger at the man next door slip away. ‘But hey, before I forget — I’m taking you to see Jungkook next weekend.’

‘Yeah, Chim told me.’ Right. Jimin. Yoongi breathes through his nose. ‘Thank you.’

‘You’re welcome, Tae-Tae.’

 

/

 

It takes Taehyung another hour to fall asleep, and they exchange a few whispered words here and there. When Yoongi hears his breathing even out, he softly kisses him on the forehead and disentangles himself from the boy. Taehyung immediately goes for the plushie lying next to him and buries his face in the soft bunny. Yoongi can’t help but smile at him. So innocent yet so wise that it took the mighty Hades a few days to fall for him. He thinks for the hundredth time how he will die before he lets something happen to Tae.

The kitchen is, thankfully, empty when he walks in. He makes himself a cup of tea, trying to do it as quietly as possible, and walks out on the balcony, pulling out his cigarettes. His phone tells him it’s almost three am, and there’s a text from Jungkook, asking him to pick up a package form _Blackpink_ first thing in the morning. He nods to himself and texts Taeil, asking him to come around and look after the boys while he’s gone. Selene is doing his rounds right now, and he won’t complain if his shift is prolonged for an hour. He’ll probably be even happy — the apartment is close to the Helios’ salon, and if Yoongi knows his guards, and he does, then Taeil will be happy to swing by it on his way home.

He sighs and looks for the lighter but remembers that he lost it somewhere. He curses softly, patting his pockets.

‘Need a lighter?’ Comes a soft voice from behind him.

Yoongi closes his eyes briefly to compose himself and looks up. Jimin is standing in the doorway, holding up an extremely familiar lighter.

‘Where the fuck—?’ Yoongi murmurs, taking it away and lighting his cigarette.

‘Sorry, took it from your pocket and forgot to give back,’ Jimin shrugs, not an ounce of guilt on his face.

‘Why were you rummaging through my pockets, anyway? And when?’ Yoongi frowns, trying not to look at Jimin’s hands that are adorably pulling on his sleeves.

‘Honestly, don’t even remember,’ he answers, sitting up on a little couch near Yoongi and taking a cigarette out of his pocket.

Yoongi sighs and lights it for him, for a second mesmerized by the way the fire illuminates his tanned skin and puffy eyes.

‘Why aren’t you sleeping?’ He asks, pulling away.

‘Can’t,’ Jimin answers, making a drag. It reminds Yoongi of their first proper conversation. ‘I— I can’t sleep when Tony is near.’

Yoongi raises his eyebrows but doesn’t pry. It’s push and pull with them, the never-clear dynamic, and he doesn’t really know what can set Jimin off.

‘I don’t really sleep well when he’s not there, either,’ Jimin chuckles darkly. ‘But at least I can.’

‘Can’t relate.’ Yoongi shrugs. ‘My work schedule usually doesn’t allow my brain to be picky about falling asleep.’

It’s not a lie but not a full truth, either. Yes, his mind never fails to turn itself off quickly, but it makes the nightmares even worse when he can’t wake up.

‘Listen, about that meeting,’ Jimin says, biting his nail. Yoongi looks at how the cigarette is dangling between his fingers dangerously close to Jimin’s fringe. Something in it mesmerizes him, and he’s not entirely sure if it’s the lit tip or Jimin’s presence. ‘The thing you said about the body count. What happened?’

‘Why are you asking?’ Yoongi asks quietly. His tea is getting cold, so he takes a sip. It smells of smoke and grapes. ‘You want to talk about some idiot who tried to kill Zeus in the middle of the meeting of the strongest people in this city?’

‘But exactly,’ Jimin almost shouts but shushes himself quickly. He throws a glance at the door into the apartment, but there seems to be no movement. He continues talking more quietly. ‘What’s the point? Did that guy want to fail?’

‘What do you mean?’ Yoongi frowns. ‘He saw an opening and tried to follow up on his orders. Whoever gave him to them.’

Jimin sighs in frustration and leans closer.

‘You’ve been so immersed into this violence that you don’t even see it. How many of you were there? About a dozen, right? All highly trained assassins?’ His voice is slightly frantic now, and Yoongi wonders why he is so invested in this.

‘Not all of us, but yeah. The girl that took him out actually appeared just in time, and she’s the deadliest out of all of us. It was pretty convenient,’  he says, trying not to sound too suspicious. ‘Why are you so riled up?’

‘Because you’re dumb.’ He rolls his eyes and makes an angry sound. It’s rather adorable. ‘He was designed to fail, Yoongi. It’s obvious. The question is why?’

Yoongi opens his mouth to answer, but then it hits him.

Why did a man who knew exactly who they all were tried to kill someone they’d all protect in a heartbeat? It was a pointless and stupid move. Unless he wanted to be caught? But that’s ridiculous.

‘Fuck, I’m too tired for this.’ Yoongi puts the heels of his palms to his eyes and rubs them. ‘I hate this bullshit. It was so simple when all it took was one gunshot, and the problem just went away.’

To his surprise, he hears laughter, but he should probably become used to Jimin being amused by the weirdest things.

‘I’m just saying.’ Jimin shrugs and takes a drag. ‘It’s weird.’

‘Why did you think about it at all?’ Yoongi looks at him through his fingers.

‘Just saw the blood on your jacket and, I don’t know, couldn’t sleep. The thoughts, and everything,’ Jimin mumbles. Yoongi smiles with the corners of his lips.

‘Well, thank you for bringing it to my attention,’ he whispers.

They look at each other, and Yoongi thinks he can see some distant fire in Jimin’s eyes. It’s probably just the reflection of his cigarette.

‘Are you hungry?’ Jimin asks suddenly, tilting his head.

‘Don’t know, to be honest,’ Yoongi chuckles. He doesn’t remember the last time he had a proper meal.

‘Well, there’s some Thai leftovers in the fridge. Knock yourself out.’ he points his head to the general direction of the kitchen.

‘Thanks.’ It’s quiet because he can’t look away from Jimin’s eyes, and it’s getting way too complicated for his brain to comprehend.

‘Go to sleep, Jimin,’ he whispers even though he wishes for nothing else but for Jimin to stay with him.

‘Told you,’ Jimin answers just as quietly. ‘Can’t sleep.’

They don’t say anything after that, just sitting there and smoking. It’s getting colder, but Jimin pulls out a blanket and covers himself. The couch is small, but they manage to squeeze in there without actually touching. Yoongi can’t imagine the amount of errors his brain would indicate if they did.

Jimin asks him to tell something, and Yoongi, being a weak man, quietly recounts the stories about the people he saw today. Jimin listens carefully, his eyes wide open.

It takes him twenty minutes to fall asleep.

 

↹

 

Persephone wakes up in a large room, surrounded by black covers and red pillows. The bed he’s lying on is one of the most gorgeous he’s ever seen, but its beauty is undermined by the simple fact that he has no recollection of how he ended up here.

He gets up, feeling dizzy, and rubs his eyes. Something clinks, and he pulls his hands out of his face to look at them.

There are almost invisible silver chains on his wrists, coming to and from the existence along with his movements. It’s strong magic, he can sense it, and so the thought of trying to override it is pointless. He feels that his own power isn’t as strong as whatever put these shackles on him. He feels his breathing quicken but tries to remain calm.

He looks around. There are no windows but the room is still illuminated somehow, and he comes to the nearest wall, putting his hand there. It’s solid stone, cold to the touch, but he decides to try something. Closes his eyes, concentrates, and here they are — flowers start growing in the stone, blooming and reaching with their roots for the other side of the room. He can feel their movement and their struggle to grow through the stone, and he whispers his love to them, encouraging them to go further. They’re spreading all through the room, covering the darkness with their beauty, but it takes the whole room covered in blooms for him to give up. The roots keep growing, but there’s no air on the other side of these walls — just more stone. He’s probably inside a mountain, and it makes him feel uneasy because he knows every mountain in the realm, and he doesn’t sense any of their aurae in here.

He walks away from the wall, careful not to step on any of the flowers. There’s no door, either. He feels trapped, and the chains aren’t helping.

Persephone sits down on the floor, touching the petals around him to feel better, but they’re not helping to take away the dread inside his heart. He thinks about Aphrodite, and how he shouldn’t have left his friend. Perhaps, he should’ve confided in him about his fears — the shadow he kept seeing, the feeling of being watched, the distant soft yet dark voice he kept hearing.

He takes a deep breath. He will not panic.

He hears a soft sound and turns his head to see a silver plate with pomegranates on it appear among the flowers.

‘You should eat,’ comes a voice, and with a startling clarity, Persephone now understands where he is. Mount Etna.

‘Why?’ He asks, hoping that Hades can hear him, hoping that he will see his despair, feel his pain and fear.

There’s no answer. Persephone feels his throat tighten, but he forbids himself to cry. He will not show this monster his weakness. No.

‘I will not eat anything in your realm,’ he seethes through his teeth and throws the plate across the room.

The pomegranates break, and their bloody juice drips down the wall. Persephone watches it, mesmerized, and realizes that these are now the walls of his cage.

He wants to scream. Instead, he lies down in the flowers and thinks about his mother.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> come yell at me on [twitter ](https://twitter.com/romulusadhara)  
> [come yell at me as anon](https://curiouscat.me/romulusadhara)


	6. VI. filotimo.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> he does not wish to run; he’s already running.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: parent being an abusive dick.
> 
> [chapter moodboard](https://twitter.com/romulusadhara/status/1046101741283028998%20rel=)

_I can see you running, running_

_Every night from the same darkness_

_It's coming, coming. But you are not alone_

_If you just say the word_

_I'll be there by your side_

↹

He hears her screams before she enters the room.

Zeus sighs and closes his eyes. This is going to be exhausting; he can already feel it.

‘Where is he?’ Comes an outraged shriek from behind him, and he fixes his robes before turning around. The sky was so beautiful to look at from the window of the palace, yet the goddess before him is an even more captivating sight.

‘I’m right here, darling,’ Zeus drawls out. He doesn’t want this to take longer than it has to, but it’s hard to resist the urge to be snarky.

‘You bastard,’ Demeter seethes, coming up the stairs towards where he is standing. Her steps shake the throne hall. He thinks he needs to tell her to calm down before her powers destroy his house, but there’s a possibility she will try to hurt him. She won’t be successful, of course, and yet. ‘Where is my son?’

Zeus sighs. She looks even more beautiful up close, with rage painting her features with the blooms of spring.

‘I have no clue. Have you tried asking Aphrodite?’

He flinches at the name of the god of beauty. There’s still a pressing matter to be settled concerning the marriage he blessed out of necessity. He could deal with Aphrodite alone, but Ares is dangerous at the least.

‘No, I haven’t, because I know he’s not on Olympus,’ Demeter breathes out, her face so close to Zeus that he can see the sparks of stars in her eyes. She has enough power to light this whole mountain on fire. He hopes she’ll be too busy. ‘He’s somewhere in the Underworld.’

‘Oh, so you _do_ know where he is?’ He smiles slightly. There’s something particularly thrilling about pissing off the gods. He can certainly see the appeal that the mortals often experience. But then again, he has the power that cannot be taken away by someone who reports to him. Mortals, on the other hand? They can be dead on the spot.

‘Stop being such a worm,’ Demeter asks and takes a deep breath. ‘Why is my son in the Hades’ realms? And how can you be so calm about it?’

‘I’m not calm,’ Zeus clarifies. ‘I’ve come to terms with it.’

He can see her rage start boiling again and sighs.

‘You should, too.’ He placates, putting his hand on Demeter’s shoulder. ‘He won’t be coming back for now.’

‘What?’ She whispers, taken aback. He can see tears gathering in her eyes and flinches. He could never deal well with grief.

‘I’m sorry,’ Zeus says softly, and some part of him means it. ‘I can’t bring him back unless Hades allows it.’

Demeter closes her eyes, trying to compose herself. He reflects on this morning when Hades had come to him with a simple request — not to interfere. Burdened by the Aphrodite issue, Hera being exceptionally prissy this morning, and the overall curiosity at what would happen, he agreed. He felt when Persephone was taken under. He heard his pleas. He ignored him, as he ignores a lot of things these days.

‘You can convince him,’ Demeter whispers, opening her eyes. ‘My boy has no business down there. He’s way too gentle. He’s so young. Please, brother.’

Zeus flinches. He never liked the way the gods are treating Persephone. He knows for a fact that beneath the fragile exterior lies the god strong enough to beat a lot of them in the battle. She’s right — he’s too kind to actually engage in fights, but if it came to one, Persephone would come out victorious. And maybe, just maybe, it was the real reason Zeus allowed Hades to get him out of the way.

‘I can’t. And I won’t.’

She screams again, and this time, it shakes the palace so hard he has to grab the wall to remain on his feet. He can see the trees behind the windows grow in size and reach with their leaves into the room, trying to seize him. He glances at Demeter — she’s on the floor now, her face in her hands, and the tears falling from her face as petals.

‘You have to calm down.’

She wailes again, and he falls to his knees before her.

‘Demeter, it won’t change anything.’

The leaves stop growing yet she’s still hiding her face. Zeus sighs and gives her a few minutes to compose herself. When she finally emerges from behind the veil of her hair, her eyes burning with hatred and her skin glowing with tears, he is suddenly scared.

‘You will regret it, brother. Oh, how much you will.’

◕

Ten feels nothing and everything at the same time. His insides are on fire, but his hands are oh so cold. He wants to rub them together, or hide them in his pockets, or find a fire to warm them, but he can’t even lift his fingers. He’s glued to one place, and it makes him so scared he wants to scream. He can’t even do that, of course he can’t. It’s like he’s frozen in this ball of pain and cold. There’s something akin to hot coil pressed to his stomach, and the pain gets stronger by the second. He wants to jerk away, to move, to run like he always did, but something is holding him, and he wants to cry.

Until it’s all gone and he’s being lifted. The pain subsides, and he feels like he can breathe again. He can’t even figure out whether he’s unconscious, whether it’s all a dream, for his eyes can see only darkness.

He sees a splash of color once — it’s bright green, and it’s moving frantically before his eyes, and he thinks he can hear it whispering something. But it’s gone before he can try and look closer, and he lets the darkness engulf him once more.

He comes to and from, and each time he feels like he’s in a real world the fire burns less. He doesn’t know for how long he’s been in this state, and he wants to wake up for he feels uneasy. There was something that brought him that pain, and if he doesn’t wake up soon, it can come back and finish him. It’s with this thought that he passes out again.

When he finally opens his eyes, this time for real, it’s dark again. He can feel it’s the natural darkness of the night, though. He could probably finally move his hands now, but he feels so tired that he decides to wait with that. He’s not on the street, which is new and strange, but rather in a soft bed, covered with what seems like a dozen blankets. He hears hushed voices and tries to make out the words.

‘Look at him, Kook. I want to keep him. Can I keep him?’

He suspects that was about him, but he doesn’t recognize the voice, and it makes him tense up — he was already kept by someone once, and that’s how he ended up on the streets half dead. The strain makes his stomach explode with pain, but he keeps silent. He’s not sure whether it’s safe for him to be here, so he needs to assess the situation before letting whoever’s talking know that he’s awake. His mind is dizzy, probably from whatever he was injected with, but he tries to focus.

‘You know well enough you can do whatever you want, Taeyong. But he will stay only if he wants to.’

That’s new. People rarely consider his thoughts on the matter of him being somewhere. He can’t relax yet, though. He’s not one to trust quickly, because it can lead to the same old cold and pain.

‘No, of course. I won’t make him stay against his will.’ The voice is soft but raspy, and tired. Ten doesn’t know how to feel about that. ‘But I think he’ll want to stay when he realizes it’s safe. I mean, you saw the state he was in. I doubt he’s in a hurry to go back.’

He’s not wrong about that — the streets can be generous when you belong to a family, but they can be your worst enemy if you’re alone. He never liked being alone, but life never gave him much choice.

He’s terrified to realize that his mind is blacking out again, but before he can make himself wake up again, he’s already out.

Next time he comes to, there’s light outside the window that is apparently above his bed, and he recognizes it as dawn. He blinks, eyelids heavy. Everything is blurry, and the light hurts his eyes, but he can’t allow himself to close them again. He groans, trying to adjust, but before he can move his head there’s rustling beside him.

‘Oh thank fuck you’re awake. Man, even Yoongi can’t sleep that long.’ He knows this voice now, and he turns his head slowly.

The man sitting beside him is probably an angel. That’s the only explanation his drugged up sleepy mind can come up with. Morning light is illuminating the most beautiful face Ten’s ever seen, highlighting pale skin and dark eyes. Ten knows the signs of exhaustion when he sees them, and the man beside him is on the verge of passing out. His hair is bright green, and he remembers that flash of bright color that he thought he saw. He breathes out, trying to remember how to move his mouth.

‘Wow, you’re pretty.’

Even his tired brain immediately recognizes this as a Bad First Thing to Say to a Possible Murderer. It’s not like he suspects this... creature to be a murderer, but you never know. He saw people who looked more innocent than a toddler gut people with sharp pens.

The man looks taken aback, but it takes him a few seconds to recover before he’s smiling, and wow, who needs sun anyway when there exists... this.

‘You’re not so bad on the eyes yourself,’ he talks while checking Ten’s pulse, and his fingers are warm and soft. Ten suddenly feels like a fifteen-year-old with a crush. Of course, he had already been pimped out when he was fifteen, so he wouldn’t know, but still. He feels... flustered. ‘How are you feeling, pretty? Dizzy? I gave you pretty strong drugs, so don’t feel embarrassed if your filter isn’t working.’

Ten swallows, thinking that no, the drugs probably aren’t the reason he feels so strange. The guy lifts his shirt and touches his stomach tentatively, and that’s when Ten remembers that he was stabbed by someone Uranus had sent after him.

‘Stitches are holding good. You were pretty close to the edge, you know?’ He knits his brows in worry, and Ten wants honest to god whimper. How a man can be so hot and adorable at the same time? Isn’t there a law against that? There should be. ‘What were you trying to do, go to heaven?’

He can feel soft fingers on his skin, and it really does nothing to help him control himself.

‘Well, I’ve obviously succeeded. Here’s an angel.’ He lifts his heavy hand and encircles man’s wrist with his fingers.

They both stay motionless, and he can see a strange sadness in man’s eyes.

‘Ah, you’re just high, pretty.’

He carefully moves Ten’s hand away and looks up, meeting his eyes. He is definitely sad, and Ten wants nothing more than to undo whatever he did to upset the man.

‘I’m Orpheus, by the way,’ he tries to sound cheerful. Ten recognizes the name — everybody around the town knows the gang that goes by these kinds of names. He doesn’t know whether he’s scared or happy that he’s in their house right now.

‘You can call me Taeyong, though. Nickname’s only for outsiders.’

Taeyong’s smile is blinding him again, and he nods.

‘I’m Ten.’

/

He wakes up for the second time this night. He doesn’t remember the dream, but he still feels the pain. He wants to curl into a ball and scream, but before he can even move there’s a hand around his waist pulling him closer.

‘Bad dream again?’

Taeyong’s voice is rough from sleep and muffled from where he’s pressing his face into Ten’s sweat-soaked t-shirt. He doesn’t respond, because he’s afraid his voice will break, but he turns around, burying his face in his lover’s neck.

‘Don’t leave, angel.’ He doesn’t know what possesses him to say it, but maybe it’s something residual from his dream that makes his heart freeze at the thought of Taeyong being just a dream, a disappearing vision.

He feels Taeyong breathing in deeply and holding him closer.

‘Wouldn’t ever think of it, pretty.’

He kisses Tae’s skin where his neck meets his shoulder and grips his shirt. He knows everything’s okay, he knows nobody’s leaving, but there’s still fear in his mind. He lifts his head to look up, and finds Taeyong’s eyes already open, looking at him with warmth.

‘I love you, angel. And I’m not high.’

Taeyong’s low laughter sends vibrations down Ten’s hand where it’s leaning on his chest. Ten smiles. He never wants Tae to stop being this radiantly happy.

‘Love you too.’

VI

‘Come on, move your hips a little,’ Jimin says, barely able to hold in his laughter.

The music is a soft presence in the room, enveloping them in the light lyrical paradise and reminding Jimin just how much he loves doing this.

‘I told you, dancing isn’t my thing,’ He huffs, still trying to make an effort and move his body in the way Jimin is trying to teach him. It’s extremely endearing, and Jimin gives in to the urge to laugh which earns him a light punch on the hand. ‘Come on, you promised not to laugh.’

‘Sorry, sorry,’ he giggles one last time and bites his lips. The face before him is a concentrated and a little-lost one, and he wants to kiss every little crease on its forehead.

‘You still move amazingly, sunshine,’ Jimin whispers, unable to tear his eyes away from the eyes that look up at him, happiness and a secret in their irises.

‘Liar,’ Yoongi says, but his voice breaks. He clears his throat. ‘You don’t have to placate me, you know.’

‘I know,’ Jimin answers, smiling. His cheek hurt from being so happy but he doesn’t give a damn.

‘I wasn’t born to be a dancer.’ Yoongi shrugs. There’s a blush on his cheeks and Jimin leans forward, kissing it and feeling the hot skin.

‘You were born to be a legend, though,’ he says. Puts his hands on Yoongi’s shoulder and hugs his neck, his fingers playing with too-long hair. ‘Dance with me. In whatever way you feel it.’

Yoongi sighs and starts moving his feet hesitantly. His hands are a solid presence on Jimin’s waist, and he never wants to escape his embrace. He puts his face closer, breathing in Yoongi’s scent and resting his chin on his shoulder.

They move slowly, and the music is faster than them but it doesn’t matter. With Yoongi, it doesn’t matter.

‘I’m so selfish,’ Jimin whispers.

‘A bit,’ Yoongi hums, and Jimin giggles.

‘Smartass.’

‘Guilty as charged. Why do you think so, though?’

‘There is a limited amount of things I treasure the most,’ Jimin mumbles, the smell of Yoongi’s hair, magnolias and blood, lulling him into a sense of safety and bliss. ‘You and dancing among them. And now I’m combining them. My passion and my... you.’

‘Am I, though?’ Yoongi whispers. The music starts fading away, and it’s suddenly cold. Jimin hugs Yoongi closer but there’s no warmth. He opens his eyes. It’s dark.

‘Yoongi?’ He calls out and steps back a little. He realizes all of a sudden that the shoulder he was leaning against is too broad, and the face he was admiring just a minute ago is higher. Yoongi is the same height as him yet now he feels taller and bigger.

‘Nope,’ comes a rough voice.

Jimin sees dark skin and green eyes, and he’s scared. He’s terrified to see that he’s not dancing with Yoongi.

‘Tony?’ He whispers, feeling the hands on his waist squeezing too tightly to be caring.

‘Yes. Your boyfriend,’ Tony says. His voice isn’t exactly angry, but Jimin still wants to get away from him. He can’t, for he’s being held so tight his lungs suddenly constrict.

‘No, but—‘ he starts. He doesn’t know how to finish. It’s too cold, and too quiet, and too scary. He swallows the lump in his throat.

‘Oh, Jimin.’ Tony clicks his tongue. ‘Jimin, Jimin, Jimin.’

He can’t breathe, he realizes. He can’t get away, either, and it makes him petrified.

‘Please, let go,’ he pleads, his voice breaking.

‘Never, Jimin.’ Tony seethes. ‘Jimin. Jimin. Jimin!’

Jimin opens his eyes with a start, his heart racing.

‘Jimin, baby, are you okay?’ Comes a voice and he turns to bury his face in Yoongi’s chest before remembering that he’s with his boyfriend, Tony, and Yoongi isn’t someone he’s supposed to be craving when the nightmare hits.

He stops himself, unwilling to go into Tony’s embrace after how scared he was of him in the dream. It makes bile rise to his throat. He’s not supposed to feel this way.

‘You had a bad dream.’ Tony frowns, and Jimin barely restrains himself from snapping at him. He covers his lips with his fingers.

‘Did I talk in my sleep?’

There’s a pause, and he looks up, terrified of what he might’ve said while having a very emotional dream about the man he only recently made himself stop hating. Tony’s not mad, though, just thoughtful.

‘Don’t know, I didn’t hear.’ He shrugs. ‘I actually just came in. I wanted to make you breakfast in bed since it’s probably the first time I woke up before you.’

Jimin makes himself chuckle to hide the relief washing over him. It’s probably just the talk he had with Yoongi last night on the balcony.

The balcony. He fell asleep there, didn’t he? Oh god. Did Yoongi carry him to bed? What the hell. Jimin feels the panic rise in him.

‘Yeah, I guess I got tired yesterday.’ He swallows. ‘Is Taehyung up?’

‘Yeah, he’s in the living room with the weird guy,’ Tony snorts.

‘His name is Yoongi,’ Jimin corrects automatically and mentally thanks Tony for choosing this moment to roll his eyes, for he doesn’t see Jimin’s flinch at Ares’s name.

‘Not the homeless guy,’ Tony says, and that makes Jimin look up again. ‘The other one. Taeil, or something.’

‘What’s he doing here?’ Jimin frowns. Where is Yoongi? Did _he_ hear something from sleeping Jimin that made him leave? Isn’t he supposed to be their primary guard?

‘Taehyung said they’re study buddies?’ Tony shrugs, clearly disinterested. ‘The h- Yoongi left before I woke up. Now that’s someone I could bring up in my Sociology class.’

Jimin rises and sits at the edge of the bed, gripping the blanket.

‘You better not,’ he whispers absentmindedly. ‘I’ll go have a smoke.’

‘What?’

Shit. Jimin closes his eyes, realizing his slip-up.

‘It was an awful dream,’ he offers as an explanation, shrugging with one shoulder. He feels terrible because it’s a lie — the dream was very pleasant before it turned into a terror.

‘I still don’t like you smoking,’ comes a disgruntled phrase, and Jimin suppresses the urge to snap.

‘Well, I do it, and I don’t want to stop, so take it or leave it.’

He doesn’t wait for the answer, rising and walking out of the room.

Taeil and Taehyung in the kitchen, and he offers a weak wave to Selene before making a turn for the balcony.

‘Tae?’ He calls out, trusting his best friend to follow him outside.

He turns to look at Taehyung when he comes out and closes the door. He can see Tony through the glass, coming out of their room looking pissed off. Their room? Hell to the no. It’s Jimin’s room.

‘What’s wrong?’ Tae asks as soon as they’re seated on the couch.

Jimin almost wants to cry from how Taehyung doesn’t even need to ask whether there is something wrong. He knows already.

‘I don’t know,’ Jimin breathes out.

There’s a pack of his cigarettes, and he pulls one out. There’s no lighter in sight, and he thinks longingly about Yoongi. Yoongi would have a lighter.

He looks down in frustration and notices something white in between the cushions. He reaches out and pulls it out, and almost wants to start laughing hysterically. Yoongi’s lighter, here in his hand, again just last night when he thought about Yoongi and found his lighter in his pocket without recollecting at what point he stole it.

He lights his cigarette and closes his eyes. He feels Tae’s hands wrap around his shoulders and slumps gratefully against his chest.

‘Bad dream again?’ Taehyung wonders quietly.

‘Worse,’ Jimin whispers. ‘It was really nice at first.’

‘That’s— good?’

‘Yeah, if only,’ he sighs. ‘It featured Yoongi.’

There’s silence. He feels Taehyung’s chest rising and falling with his breath. His heart is beating steadily, and Jimin aligns his breathing to it. It gets easier. He takes a drag. The smoke burns pleasantly.

‘We were dancing,’ he recalls, his eyes looking at the horizon without seeing it. ‘And I was so happy... but then Tony appeared in his place, and it turned cold and scary and—‘

He breaks off, feeling a sob rise inside. Taehyung holds him closer, kissing the crown of his head.

‘It’s not supposed to be like this,’ Jimin whimpers. ‘I’m supposed to be scared of Yoongi, not my boyfriend.’

‘Why do you have to be scared at all?’ Taehyung wonders quietly, and it’s so far from anything Jimin has expected to hear that he feels his mouth fall open.

‘Because— because the fear is what makes life real?’ He spurts out, the first thought on his mind seeming rational to him.

‘That’s depressing,’ Tae muses and strokes Jimin’s neck. ‘And not really true.’

‘We’ve invited ourselves into a crime family, Taehyung!’ Jimin shouts, realizing his mistake almost immediately and lowering his voice. ‘Of course, we need to be afraid.’

‘Chim,’ Taehyung sighs and leans forward so that they’re face to face. ‘We haven’t. I have. I fell in love, knowing well what I’m getting myself into. And before you say anything,’ he rushes to say when he sees Jimin open his mouth. ‘I know that you would’ve followed me in any case. But maybe, just maybe, you have to admit to yourself that it was almost too easy?’

‘What?’ Jimin breathes out. The cigarette dangles in his fingers, ashes growing bigger while the paper is burning out.

‘You came to the Underworld for me,’ Taehyung says slowly. There’s a soft smile on his lips. ‘And you planned to get me out, right?’

Jimin frowns.

‘Was it too obvious?’

‘Almost embarrassingly so.’ Taehyung nods, pursing his lips. ‘But you gave that plan up what, three weeks and two hangouts with the criminals later?’

‘No, I-‘ Jimin starts. Yet there’s nothing to say. He swallows. ‘I just saw that maybe... that maybe it’s not that dangerous.’

‘Because you’re sure they’ll protect us.’ Taehyung squints his eyes like every time he’s pretending to think something over that he thought of a long time ago. ‘Or because we belong with them more than you first thought?’

Jimin looks into his eyes, seeing something that he hasn’t noticed in all the years they’ve known each other. Taehyung is content. He’s calm. Jimin noticed that his gaze isn’t haunted anymore back when he came to the Street for the first time, but with each passing day, it gets even clearer. This isn’t a temporary relief for Taehyung. He’s slowly but steadily becoming one of them.

And Jimin is following him. Because he’s such a good friend, or because he’s dreaming of criminals, dancing awkwardly yet feeling safe?

‘You’re not trying to sell me that fatalism bullshit again, are you?’ He wonders, but his voice is too weak even for his ears.

Taehyung laughs. His low voice resonates with something deep inside Jimin. Something half-forgotten and buried under the piles of sarcasm and trust issues. Something that begins way before his mortal memory. What the hell?

‘I don’t need to sell you something you’ll get yourself soon enough.’ Taehyung shrugs and takes an almost burnt out cigarette from Jimin’s fingers. Takes a drag and flinches. ‘God, you smoke the same bitter shit Yoongi does. Would it kill you to at least carry menthols?’

‘They’re bad for the heart,’ Jimin mumbles absentmindedly, still trying to get to the point Taehyung isn’t even trying to carry across to him.

‘Yeah, and these are the treat for it,’ Taehyung snorts and takes another drag. Puts it out and throws it into an ashtray. ‘We’re immortal, baby.’

‘Sure.’ Jimin sighs. ‘Talking to you only made me more confused.’

‘That’s good,’ Taehyung shrugs. ‘Confusion is the first step to acceptance. Or some shit like that.’

They look at each other and burst out laughing. Jimin feels the weight lift from his chest and sighs heavily. Takes Taehyung’s hand and rubs it in his.

‘Thanks, dork,’ he mumbles happily. ‘Where’s the nightmare, anyway?’

‘Oh, miss him already?’ Taehyung teases, and Jimin rolls his eyes. ‘Went out to run some errands. Taeil is filling in until he gets back.’

‘Did he sleep?’ Jimin frowns. ‘He’s been on his feet for at least a day.’

‘Why are you so worried?’ Taehyung leans forward, his eyes burning. ‘Please, tell me that you’ll ditch the buzzkill for Yoongi.’

‘Swap the buzzkill for a people-kill?’ Jimin rubs his chin theatrically. ‘Good trade, I’ll consider it.’

Taehyung slaps him on the shoulder and slouches back on the couch.

‘You just don’t see it, don’t you?’ He sighs. ‘Tony is draining you. Slowly and meticulously. I don’t know what his end goal is, but it’s not a good one.’

‘Listen, Tae,’ Jimin starts, already tired of the conversation they’ve had millions of times before.

‘No, you listen,’ Taehyung interrupts, sudden heat to his tone. ‘Even your subconscious is telling you he’s up to no good.’

‘I was just too emotional from spending the day with the devil twins,’ Jimin defends himself weakly.

‘See, you’re already calling them like Yoongi does!’

‘It doesn’t mean anything!’ Jimin snaps, suddenly so irritated that he clenches Yoongi’s lighter in his palm to a point he feels it leaving marks. ‘Listen, you may be right about me feeling way too comfortable around them way too quickly. But it doesn’t mean I suddenly want to drop everything and run into some murderer’s arms!’

‘Well, that’s good to know,’ comes a rough voice from the entry and he looks up so fast his neck hurts. Yoongi is leaning against a doorframe, his posture seemingly relaxed yet Jimin can see the tension in the lines of his shoulders. He wishes he wouldn’t notice such things.

‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—‘ he sputters and sees Taehyung suppress a smirk. Little shit. He probably knew Yoongi was listening.

‘I know.’ Yoongi shrugs and comes fully, plumping down on the small space still left on the couch. Taehyung takes it as his cue to wrap himself around the man.

‘Of course, you know,’ Jimin mumbles and rubs his eyes. ‘I seem to have stolen your lighter again.’

He stretches his arm to give it back to the man and looks at his confused face.

‘The hell?’ Yoongi mumbles. ‘I swear I had it like an hour ago.’

‘No, it was here in the couch,’ Jimin frowns. ‘You must’ve dropped it last night.’

‘Yeah.’ Yoongi frowns, still looking at the white lighter in his hand.

‘How was your trip, Yoonie?’ Taehyung asks softly, and Jimin envies his ability to be so relaxed around the man. But then again, Jimin doesn’t want to be anything around Yoongi. So.

‘Successful.’ Yoongi smiles down at him. ‘The girls say hi, and they asked to give you something. It’s on the kitchen counter, and you better go get it before the Judgy Judgeson throws it out.’

‘I’ll murder him,’ Taehyung breathes out and stands up abruptly, running inside the apartment like a kid at Christmas.

‘What did you bring him?’ Jimin wonders. Yoongi moves closer now that there’s more space, and Jimin swallows, suddenly remembering how close they were in his dream.

‘A trinket.’ Yoongi shrugs with one shoulder. ‘It’s something like an earring? I don’t know, the girls said he'd like it.’

‘The girls?’ Jimin asks, trying to sound just indifferent enough that Yoongi doesn’t hear the uneasiness in his voice but not too cold as to make him think Jimin doesn’t care. God, he’s overthinking it with a passion, isn’t he?

‘Tyche and Nemesis, otherwise known as Rosé and Jisoo,’ Yoongi explains, lighting his cigarette. ‘They run a casino a few blocks from here.’

He points to his left, but Jimin can’t see anything past the scrapers that surround their house in the apartment complex.

‘They serve to mostly the criminal crowd,’ Yoongi continues. ‘There are VIP rooms on the highest floors, and they have a strict no-weapons policy in there. But, and you probably won’t be surprised, a lot of people still smuggle guns in the rooms. Jisoo really hates it. She’s in charge of the guard.’

‘What happens to those who try to break the rules?’ Jimin asks, some part of him curious, another dreading the answer.

‘Surprisingly, they survive,’ Yoongi snorts, and Jimin releases the breath he was holding. ‘If Jisoo disposed of every person that brought guns to a poker game, there wouldn’t be a clientele. But, she _does_ take everything away. The punishment is that they never see their weapons again, no matter how treasured of a possession it is. She once took away a gun that was in someone’s family for generations.’

‘Well, they shouldn’t have brought it, then,’ Jimin shrugs.

‘Precisely.’ Yoongi nods. ‘Anyway, they have no use for the weapons they take since Jisoo prefers to design the guns her guards are using herself. So we usually take them off her hands.’

‘And what happens to them?’ Jimin wonders. He’s put his feet on the couch, resting his chin on his knees. It’s so easy — listening to Yoongi’s stories.

‘I take them home, and everyone picks what they want. If there’s something left, I take it down to our local pawn shop.’ Yoongi takes a drag and rests his head on the back of the couch. He looks exhausted. ‘But mostly they stay just lying around in the Underworld Hotel.’

‘Wait, so if you take away the weapons, how did you get an earring for Taehyung?’ Jimin frowns, suddenly wary.

‘It’s actually a paralyzing device.’ Yoongi shrugs and opens his eyes before Jimin can start shouting. ‘I disarmed it, don’t worry, it’s harmless.’

Jimin breathes out and huffs. The sun is obscured by some cloud, and it’s pleasantly chilly in here. He remembers something.

‘Did you carry me to bed last night?’ He asks without taking his eyes off the sky. He finds he doesn’t want to look at Yoongi.

‘I didn’t want you to catch a cold,’ Yoongi responds, just as quietly.

‘Thanks.’ Jimin swallows. Why is it so confusing to be around him? He remembers his dream. He wants to have an extra dance practice all of a sudden. Maybe, Hoseok will be free and won’t ask any questions about Jimin’s suspicious escort.

‘I brought you something, too, by the way.’

The way it sounds — soft, almost shy — makes Jimin turn his head and look at what Yoongi is holding. It’s a tiny dagger, its handle encrusted with familiar stones. Jimin raises his hand and touches his sword pendant.

‘I want it to protect you,’ Yoongi whispers, and Jimin feels as if he’s supposed to have a déjà vu yet nothing comes. He stares at the dagger. ‘If I’m ever not there to do it.’

Jimin can’t help it — he pulls out his necklace to see if he’s hallucinating or if it’s really similar to the weapon. Yoongi stares at the sword without saying a word, but he’s suddenly pale.

‘Where did you get that?’ He croaks.

‘My mother gave it to me long ago, why?’

He sees Yoongi’s hand, the one with that damn watch, jerk as if he wants to reach out yet restrains himself.

‘Nothing.’ He shakes his hand and hands him the dagger. ‘Here. Please, take it.’

‘I don’t even know how to use it,’ Jimin mumbles, wrapping his fingers around the handle anyway. It’s not too heavy but not too light — just perfect.

‘I can teach you.’ Yoongi shrugs, trying to look nonchalant, and Jimin almost snickers at how fake it looks.

‘Fine, but when Tony’s not here,’ he says, a small smile playing on his lips. ‘And if you promise not to put it to my neck again.’

‘I’ll think about it. Depends on your behavior.’ Yoongi winks, and Jimin freezes, suddenly feeling a new, unfamiliar territory. Why did he have to do this? Jimin hides his panic by lowering his head to look at the handle. It’s amazing how the pattern of the decoration repeats the pattern of his pendant.

‘Mom said she found my necklace at some fair,’ he mumbles. ‘Maybe, they were a pair once upon a time.’

‘And now, they’re reunited at last,’ Yoongi stage-whispers. ‘After years of hardship, traveling through worlds, and most probably some curse, the two lovers are reunited at last.’

Jimin laughs, throwing his body on the back of the couch.

‘Shut up,’ he pleads. He shouldn’t be so amused by this small thing yet somehow he is, and he doesn’t find it in himself to care.

‘Babe?’ Comes a new voice, and he feels his humor disappear.

‘I’m here,’ he sighs and looks up to see Tony.

‘I made breakfast like ten minutes ago,’ Tony says, frowning. Jimin sighs.

‘I’ll come in a second,’ he smiles tightly. Tony nods and goes back inside, but not before throwing an irritated glance at Yoongi.

‘Have some rest,’ he says, getting up. ‘When was the last time you slept?’

‘Good question,’ Yoongi snorts. ‘But I will today. Taeyong will arrive soon to take his shift. I’ll have one more thing to do, and then I’ll go home to sleep.’

‘Alright.’ Jimin nods, still not knowing why he cares. ‘I hope you get a good amount of sleep.’

‘I will, don’t worry.’ Yoongi smiles, looking right into Jimin’s eyes. It’s still not cold yet Jimin shivers. ‘I’ll probably pick you up from the university tomorrow. If not, I’ll see you here.’

‘Okay.’ Jimin nods again, and it seems that they’ve finished talking yet he’s still standing there, looking at the blonde tangled mess of Yoongi’s hair. It was black in his dream. He swallows. ‘Bye, Yoongi. Hold on to that dagger for me, will you? I’ll take it when Tony leaves.’

He goes inside without waiting for an answer because he knows for a fact he’ll stay if he hears more of Yoongi’s voice. And it’s the last thing he wants.

VI

Tony made a smiley face out of bacon on his eggs.

Jimin stares at it, sudden lump in his throat. He looks up and sees the supplies in the sink. Something occurs to him.

‘Taehyung doesn’t eat meat,’ he says quietly, for some reason confused.

‘I know,’ Tony answers from where he’s making coffee. ‘I made him a vegan portion. He’s already chomping on it in his room.’

Jimin looks at his back.

‘Thanks.’ The lump is still there.

‘It’s nothing.’ Tony shrugs. He's dressed in one of Jimin’s biggest t-shirts. ‘And he already thanked me. You don’t have to treat him like your kid, you know.’

Jimin chuckles darkly and nods to himself. Doting on Taehyung is the one trait he could never leave behind.

‘Now eat up, you didn’t sleep well.’ Tony turns around, two cups of coffee in his hands. ‘Does your— friend want something?’

Jimin swallows.

‘He has my permission to raid the fridge.’ He half-shrugs. ‘He’ll eat if he wants to.’

‘Cool.’ Tony nods and takes a sip. Jimin notes that his animosity is gone, or he’s suppressing it very well.

‘Hey,’ he says softly. ‘I’m sorry about earlier.’

Tony smiles and comes closer, leaning over the counter and giving Jimin a peck on the cheek.

‘It’s okay. I get pissy when I’m sleep-deprived too.’

He steps away then and rests against a cupboard, looking intently at the fork in Jimin’s hand. Jimin complies and starts eating, thinking about the night he met Tony. The night that convinced him he’s the terrible person nobody believes him to be, after all.

_Four months ago_

It’s dark in the club, and the bruises on Jimin’s neck went off three days ago, but he’s still trying to stretch the collar of his shirt over his neck. He feels too exposed in this outfit, but Taehyung have been trying to drag him to a club to ‘get his minds off of things’ for ages, so he doesn’t complain. A month ago he would dress like this and go out so late just for the kicks, but now even thinking about those times makes him want to run away and hide. He grips his pendant and inhales deeply. He can do this.

‘Alright, but remember, we’re not drinking!’ He shouts to Taehyung, who immediately starts pouting.

‘But I literally turned twenty one a week ago!’ He pleads. ‘You promised me we'd celebrate.’

‘I know, but I meant at home, with something I cook myself, not at a bar where I can’t even afford a fucking soda for you,’ Jimin sighs, looking tiredly at Tae.

He knows he’s being a buzzkill, but he has a huge pile of bills waiting for him at home, his father’s and his combined. He lost their house, and while he has some money saved up, adding that to the vault his mother left for him to claim when he turns twenty-four, that is untouchable money, not mentioning he can’t access the rest of it for two more years. He’s lucky that he was allowed into the dorms, but he still wants to move out as soon as he gets on his feet and finds a job.

Taehyung sighs and hugs him tightly.

‘I’m not allowing you to pay for the drinks on your own technical birthday,’ Jimin says before Taehyung can offer it.

‘Well then,’ Tae says, leaning back a little. ‘We’ll just find someone to pay for our drinks.’

Before Jimin can contradict, they’re in the crowd, swirling in the body mass of sweat and something glittering. Jimin feels like he’s trapped in the beehive, people around him so annoyingly loud and dangerous. He swallows, trying to make himself relax, but it’s hard when every time he closes his eyes, he can see his dad’s distorted face.

He’s going to be fine.

Jimin tries to always keep track of Taehyung, but it’s hard since the boy keeps ending up near different people every few minutes. He keeps handing Jimin the drinks, and Jimin obediently takes them just to pass to someone else. Him not wanting to drink isn’t even that much of a money issue. He’s just not in the mood. Yet, he’s glad that Taehyung is enjoying himself and catching up for the birthday they didn’t celebrate because Jimin was still in the hospital. Taehyung deserves to have fun — he’s stayed by Jimin’s side through all the hospital stay and police investigation, and so now Jimin patiently watches over him as he’s flying from a guy to a guy. Jimin thinks about the poor soul who’s gonna earn Taehyung’s genuine love one day — he wants to meet the idiot who’s gonna be interesting enough to make Tae slow down, and who’s going to be smart enough to allow Tae to stay himself.

At some point, the small crowd disembarks from the club, taking Jimin and Taehyung with them.

‘There’s a party at one of the frat houses,’ Taehyung explains on the way, something sweet and definitely alcoholic on his breath.

‘But we were already at one,’ Jimin sighs quietly but obeys.

It’s not like he’s bored, but he’s not having that much fun either. He wishes he could just snap out of it and take a drink, dance and relax, forget himself in the swirl of bodies, yet it’s hard for him to even finish a cigarette without wondering when he’ll be allowed to go home.

He used to be the life of the party, he thinks absentmindedly as they enter the fraternity house. He looks around. It’s a standard four-stories building decorated to reek of heterosexuality and masculinity. He flinches. He wishes he had the power to change people’s hearts with a snap of his fingers.

‘You look awfully sober for such a later hour.’

Jimin sighs internally and turns around, plastering a fake smile on his lips.

The guy who’s trying to hit on him so desperately subtly is, Jimin can’t deny it, hot. He’s tall and muscular, dark skin glistening in the headlights. It’s unclear whether it’s sweat or alcohol, but Jimin finds himself wanting to taste nevertheless.

‘It’s not my best night,’ he responds, his smile turning into a genuine one. The guy doesn’t look like he’s going to offer or ask for a blowjob right here and now, so maybe they can at least have a pleasant conversation.

‘Wanna talk about it?’ The guy arches a brow, two cups already in his hands.

Jimin chuckles and takes one of the cups, pouring some soda from a closed can. If life had taught him something, it’s to never trust your relatives with psychosis and to always pour your own drinks.

‘If you want to listen to me whine about my problems for about three hours.’ Jimin smiles sarcastically. Something in this guy makes his mood lift, and at this point, he’s honestly going to take everything that life offers him.

‘Can’t wait!’ The guy shouts dramatically and laughs. ‘I’m Tony.’

‘Jimin,’ he answers, extending his arm and shaking Tony’s palm.

They go out to the street at some point, and Jimin is a little worried about Taehyung before he sees him laughing with some girls Jimin knows well. He signals them to watch over Tae and goes outside, thinking that he needs to stop being so obsessive over Taehyung’s safety. They settle on the bench, and so it begins.

It’s easy to talk to Tony. It’s easy to tell him the stories about his life and college, and the fact that his father is locked up in a mental hospital because he attacked his own son during what was supposed to be a quiet family dinner.

Tony tells him his stories in return. The only son of two doctors, the kid who was supposed to turn our very promising and spoiled but in the end chose to become a social worker because he felt like helping people get their lives together was more morally rewarding than, well, getting their bodies together by being a surgeon.

‘I have to admit, all the hospital talk is triggering to me,’ Jimin confesses at some point.

And then goes his most pressing story — the stacks of bills and complete inability to do something about them.

At some point, they go from sitting on the opposites sides of the bench to moving closer, and in no time Jimin realizes that Tony’s fingers are stroking his arm, a reassuring presence in the otherwise chaotic atmosphere.

‘I could help with that, you know,’ Tony notes quietly when Jimin jokes about living off ramen and looking at the scar on his ribs rather than at an exhibition in a museum he loves so much.

‘What do you mean?’ Jimin frowns, overturning his palm and intertwining their fingers. It feels nice.

‘My father runs the hospital.’ Tony shrugs with one shoulder. There’s a blush on his cheeks. Jimin is sitting close enough to him to notice how it spreads. ‘Those bills could... go away.’

Jimin stills. He feels uneasy.

‘First of all, I’m pretty sure it’s illegal,’ he chuckles darkly to mask how uncomfortable he feels. ‘Second of all, why would you do that?’

Tony looks into his eyes, and Jimin understands. It makes him want to throw up. He takes his hand out of Tony’s and hides it between his legs.

‘I’m sorry, but I don’t think you have the correct perception of me,’ he grits out.

‘Shit, Jimin, I’m sorry,’ Tony rushes to say. ‘I’m not offering to help you for sex or something like that. Jesus.’

He pulls at his hair and breathes out abruptly.

‘I like you. I really do,’ he starts, swallowing. He’s looking at the ground. ‘And I like helping people. It’s not hard for me with my family’s resources. And I think, with everything you’ve been through, you deserve to be spared of this.’

Jimin frowns, biting his lips. It’s so fucking tempting he starts hating himself. Why is he even considering it?

‘This city is— fucked up,’ Tony breathes out through his nose. ‘With all the criminals we have running around and doing whatever the hell they want, would it really be such a bad thing for me to help you?’

He looks up, and Jimin meets his gaze.

‘I’m not asking anything in return.’ He shrugs and chuckles. ‘Just maybe your friendship.’

‘Listen, I don’t know how I feel about this,’ Jimin confesses. He touches his wildly beating heart. ‘I don’t like being in debt, but I hate owing someone something. I’m not even talking hundreds of dollars, there’s more.’

‘I don’t care,’ Tony says quickly. ‘Trust me, my father made larger sums disappear in the paperwork. He’s a really morally ambiguous man.’

‘Is this how you plan to help people when you graduate?’ Jimin asks, interrupting him. ‘By using your connections?’

‘Wherever I can, yes.’ It doesn’t even take him a second to think. ‘Or what? You expect me just to talk to them and hope that they suddenly see the light?’

‘Well, yes,’ Jimin answers a little hysterically. ‘I’m not an idealist, but isn’t how it’s supposed to be?’

‘Not in this city.’ Tony shakes his head. ‘It’s a machine, Jimin, and the people are its fuel. And the few sides that it has are constantly fighting for that fuel to power whatever part of the machine they’re in charge of. I’d prefer you use my offer and stay on the good side than go looking for extra cash from, I don’t know, the Underworld.’

Jimin breathes out in frustration. He hates how much sense it all makes.

‘You’re weird,’ he confesses and laughs quietly. ‘But kind. In a way.’

‘I’m just trying to do my best in the worst situation.’ Tony shrugs and laughs too. ‘And I honestly don’t expect anything from you in return. Let’s say, you’re the first project I’ll have out of the many that will come.’

Jimin feels Tony’s hand on his again. He doesn’t want to shake it off, yet something inside of him desperately wishes this whole conversation wouldn’t happen.

_Don’t say yes._

The voice in his head is distantly familiar, but he can’t quite place it. He wants to listen to it, but he has to admit it at least to himself — he’s scared. So scared he’s ready to do anything to make the cause of his anxiety go away. He thinks about what Taehyung would say, but something tells him Tae would support his choice whatever it is.

He sighs and closes his eyes, preparing for an answer.

_Just wait for me, sunshine, don’t go with him._

He wants to scream in frustration. This inner voice of his is really confusing, and it’s not offering any other ways out, so he ignores it.

‘All right,’ he whispers. Tony hears him if the way he squeezes his palm is of any indication. ‘Please, help me.’

Jimin looks at Tony now, thinking where he would be if he didn’t take the offer back then. To Tony’s name, he truly never asked for anything in return. They texted and met on campus and never brought up the subject of debt again, but the overdue bills notices stopped coming.

Two weeks after the party, Tony kissed him, and Jimin didn’t pull back. He doesn’t know why. Was it his guilt? Was it because he genuinely liked Tony? He’s still not sure, but he stopped questioning it a long time ago. Tony makes him feel calm, and that means a lot to Jimin.

Of course, there’s still an issue of him not being able to fall asleep next to Tony, but it’s not his boyfriend’s fault — Jimin always had troubles sleeping. The only person he feels safe enough near to allow his brain to relax is Taehyung.

And Yoongi, apparently. He swallows. That’s an anomaly. He was just really tired.

Jimin gets up and walks around the counter to stand before Tony. He smiles and takes Tony’s face in his hands. Kisses him softly.

‘Thank you,’ he whispers, not sure as to what is he thanking him for. For the breakfast, or maybe for support, or for just approaching him at that party. For sticking around the nutcase in the making that is Jimin.

‘It’s nothing,’ Tony whispers back and puts his hands on Jimin’s waist, bringing him closer.

At some point, Jimin hears the door closing. It makes him want to pull away from Tony and have a panic attack. He knows Yoongi saw them because they’re standing just a few feet away from the balcony door, and he also knows that Yoongi could’ve left without making himself heard. But he wanted Jimin to know. Why?

‘Wow, I didn’t sign up for an adult show.’

Jimin recognizes the voice as Taeyong and pulls away from Tony, fixing his tee that riled up where Tony was gripping it, exposing the scar Jimin has from the fork his father put in him. He turns around and sees Taeyong’s gaze on his stomach. He rubs it unconsciously.

‘Do you people have like an oath or something to not start your conversations with a simple greeting?’ He wonders, coming close to Taeyong and smiling.

‘It saves time,’ Taeyong chuckles and looks over Jimin’s shoulder. ‘Hi?’

‘Hello.’ Tony waves his hand weakly. Jimin can imagine his state right now.

‘Tony, this is Taeyong, my— we take Literature together, he’s here for our project,’ Jimin lies easily, almost uncomfortable with how quickly he came up with that. Almost.

‘I’ve never seen you around campus.’ Tony frowns, crossing his arms on his chest. Jimin sighs. So much for making him feel better.

‘It’s a big campus,’ Taeyong snorts.

Tony rolls his eyes and goes into Jimin’s room. Jimin follows him with his eyes and waits until the door is closed to turn back to Taeyong.

‘Will you all stop appearing when Tony is here?’ He seethes. ‘I’m running out of cover stories.’

‘Sorry.’ Taeyong flinches. He actually has the decency to look slightly guilty. ‘But we also can’t wait around until he leaves. Someone always has to be inside the apartment with you, or Jungkook will have our heads.’

‘Someone said Jungkook?’ Taehyung’s head pops out from the crack in his open door, and Jimin giggles. He’s adorable. ‘Taeyong, hi!’

He opens the door fully and comes out, dressed in a tiger onesie.

‘Nice pajamas,’ Taeyong comments as Taehyung wraps himself around him in greeting. ‘How’ve you been?’

‘Manageable.’ Taehyung shrugs. ‘I miss you all, and college is boring as hell.’

‘You still need to graduate,’ Taeyong sighs. He drops his bag on the floor and sits on the couch, rubbing his eyes. Taehyung sits next to him, his chin on his knees.

‘You never did,’ he notes. Taeyong chuckles darkly.

‘It wasn’t exactly my fault.’

‘What happened?’ Jimin wonders but then realizes that he might be crossing a line. ‘You don’t have to answer.’

‘Nah, it’s okay.’ He jerks his shoulder. ‘I got kicked out of med school because I fell in love with a rich girl while being a poor fucker myself.’

‘That sucks.’ Jimin raises his eyebrows.

‘Yep, but I’m long over it.’

Taeyong’s voice is light, but Jimin can see the worry creasing his brow. Something is on his mind, something that comes from his past yet also resides in his present. Jimin thinks he can feel some kind of anxiety from Taeyong like he’s on the brink of making a decision, but he’s still not done with analyzing the pros and cons. Jimin swallows. He doesn’t know where he always gets these— premonitions, but they’re always right. He bites his lip. Should he bring it up?

‘How’s Ten?’ Taehyung asks, playing with Taeyong’s hair.

‘Already on his feet.’ Taeyong rolls his eyes, and it’s gone — the anxiety and uncertainty. Now Jimin only feels something gentle and soft coming from Taeyong. Thinking about Ten obviously makes him happier. ‘We had a deal about his bed-rest, and it expires today. So he’s already back to training. I am not amused.’

‘But he’s gonna be okay?’ Jimin wonders, unsure as to why he cares. He only ever saw Ten once, and the man was bleeding out then.

‘Of course.’ Taeyong smiles warmly. ‘Physically, at least.’

‘What do you mean?’ Taehyung wonders quietly.

‘Yoongi is taking him to see the _Triple H_ today.’ Taeyong swallows.

‘Oh,’ Jimin breathes out and sputters as he sees Taeyong look at him incredulously. ‘Yoongi told me about them, and who they are to Ten.’

‘Of course he did,’ Taeyong drawls out but there’s no animosity in his tone, only curiosity, and slight amusement. ‘Well, he texted me this morning that Hyuna asked if Ten would come around. I convinced Ten to give them a chance.’

‘Will he be okay?’ Taehyung wonders.

‘Eventually.’ Taeyong half-shrugs. ‘They’re his family, and he loves them, even though it’s hard for him to get over what was happening to him. I don’t blame him.’

Tony chooses this moment to come out of Jimin’s room, fully dressed, with his shirt dusty for some reason, and with his bag on his shoulder.

‘You’re leaving already?’ Jimin turns to him and frowns.

‘Father just called and asked to come around to the hospital. He wants to talk about something,’ Tony answers, frowning. ‘I hope everything is alright. He never works on Sundays.’

‘Call me after?’ Jimin offers, coming up to him and kissing him on the cheek.

‘Sure.’ Tony smiles with a strain and waves his hand in the general direction of the other boys.

Jimin shows him out and closes the door softly, wondering as to what could be so urgent. Tony’s father is not the most pleasant man yet he could never reach the levels of Jimin’s. Jimin sighs.

Back in the living room, the TV is on, playing some cop show.

‘That’s appropriate,’ Jimin comments, plumping down on the couch beside Taeyong.

‘We love irony.’ The Orpheus shrugs.

Jimin chuckles and looks at the screen. A woman, clearly a detective, is interrogating a suspect who’s looking bored out of his mind.

‘It looks too calm,’ Taehyung comments, yawning. ‘My father would’ve been beating him up at this point.’

Jimin throws a glance in his direction. They haven’t brought up the subject of his parent since they moved here.

‘Yeah,’ Taeyong chuckles and pulls back a collar of his shirt. Jimin sees a faded rectangular scar. ‘That’s from his ring.’

Jimin swallows and looks into his eyes. Taehyung leans over Taeyong to look at his neck, frowning.

‘I’m so sorry, Tae,’ he whispers.

‘You’re not him, Taehyung,’ Taeyong answers just as quietly. ‘So you don’t have to apologize.’

Taehyung sighs and lies down to spread himself across Taeyong and Jimin’s lap.

‘I wish he would go through everything he puts people through in that precinct of his,’ he declares, his lips curling in distaste.

‘Karma is coming for him, I’m sure,’ Jimin sighs. ‘Did he get in contact with you?’

‘He tried to call, but I didn’t pick up,’ Taehyung answers. His eyes are closed as Jimin strokes his hair. ‘Didn’t want him tracing the call.’

‘Smart.’ Taeyong nods. They sit there watching an episode after episode of the show for hours. It’s nearing two when Jimin gets tired of watching Taeyong glance at his phone every few minutes.  
‘He’ll be okay,’ he says softly, and Taeyong looks up. ‘If something happened, someone would call. Yoongi, at least.’  
‘Yeah.’ Taeyong takes a deep breath. He stays silent for a bit and then bites his lip as if preparing for something. ‘Tae?’  
‘Yep?’ The boy looks up from where he’s munching on a cupcake, the intricate earring Yoongi gave him dangling beautifully in his ear. His eyes are half-closed, and Jimin wonders what nightmares had plagued him last night.  
‘Tell me, would you agree to something critically important yet dubiously dangerous?’

Jimin stills as Taehyung’s eyes fly open.

‘Yes, please, I’m bored out of my mind,’ he breathes out.

‘Tae,’ Jimin warns, but there’s no fight in him left.

‘Nope, you’re not allowed to worry. I’m set on being the part of the Underworld, Chim.’ Tae looks up to him, his brow arched.

‘I admire the dedication but listen to me first,’ Taeyong chuckles.

Taehyung makes a motion to zap his mouth shut and folds his palms on his chest.

‘I need to get some information from your father’s precinct,’ Taeyong starts. Jimin already doesn’t like it. ‘And I need a distraction.’

‘I’m yours,’ Taehyung agrees immediately. ‘When do we go?’

‘Sometime next month. And another thing.’ He worries his lip. ‘I kinda need you to keep it a secret from Jungkook.’

Taehyung’s excited expression turns into a confused one, and he opens his mouth, but nothing comes out.

‘Just for now,’ Taeyong clarifies quickly. ‘He already has enough on his mind, and I don’t want him to worry. I’ll be by your side all the time, anyway.’

‘Al— Alright,’ Taehyung swallows and smile weekly. ‘I trust you.’

‘Thank you.’ Taeyong nods and boops Taehyung’s nose. ‘You’re the best.’

There’s a sound of some song, and Taehyung raises his head to look in the direction of his room where his phone is.

‘It’s Kookie.’

Taeyong sputters, his eyes going wide as Taehyung stands up and goes to answer the call.

‘Does he feel it or something?’ Taeyong whispers to nobody in particular.

Jimin swallows and licks his lips.

‘Can you tell me what do you need there?’ He wonders, not really expecting an answer.

There’s silence, and he looks up to see Taeyong’s eyes study him intently.

‘Yoongi likes you,’ he says, and now it’s Jimin’s turn to sputter.

‘I don’t think so,’ he chuckles and kneads his hands.

‘I do.’ Taeyong shrugs. ‘Anyway, he’s already told you enough, so I don’t see why I shouldn’t. I need to look up something about a new unit Kim has. _Red Velvet._ They say it’s a bunch of really dedicated and incorruptible girls.’

‘Don’t you have snitches in the force?’ Jimin wonders, because he’d definitely heard Taehyung’s father talking about dirty cops he’d put away.

‘We do, all over the city.’ Taeyong nods. ‘But not in that particular precinct.’

‘Figures.’ Jimin raises his eyebrows.

‘There’s actually a special unit we have all over the police,’ Taeyong clarifies. ‘They’re kinda like double agents, only in reverse.’

‘Of course they are,’ Jimin snorts. ‘I bet they have a name, too.’

He means it as a joke, but a sly smirk on Taeyong’s lips tells him otherwise.

‘They’re called Seventeen,’ he says, grinning. ‘Their leader is the only one not inside. Aether is like surveillance. He monitors every camera in the city.’

‘That’s convenient,’ Jimin muses. ‘So these seventeen guys, they—‘

‘There’s actually thirteen of them,’ Taeyong clarifies. ‘Don’t ask.’

‘Alright,’ Jimin drawls out. ‘These guys are on both sides of the river? Who do they report to?’

‘You’re asking amazingly right questions.’ Taeyong frowns, but Jimin feels that he’s not mad. ‘What exactly does Yoongi tell you to keep you away from snapping at him?’

Jimin looks down, suddenly shy. He remembers the soothing sound of Yoongi’s voice from last night and the way he looked at Jimin what he told him about his nightmares. Not pity, not compassion — understanding. He doesn’t recall on which part of Yoongi’s stories he passed out, but he knows that falling asleep had never been so easy.

‘Anyway,’ Taeyong clears his throat. ‘They’re independent, and they work for everyone who pays them. We happen to do that, so we have access to everything apart from Kim’s precinct. Aether already lost a few guys to him, and he stopped sending him in. The man is too unstable.’

‘Don’t you still have the footage from the precinct?’ Jimin wonders. ‘Since you said that Aether controls everything.’

‘Yes, but there are only three cameras inside,’ Taeyong sighs. ‘He’s unstable, but he’s smart. He knows we’re watching, so he makes sure we see as little as possible.’

‘I see,’ Jimin muses. ‘Be careful, will you?’

‘Don’t worry,’ Taeyong smiles. ‘I’ll bring him back home safe. His father won’t hurt him.’

Jimin doesn’t get to answer. There’s a sound of a doorbell ringing, and they look at each other, suddenly alarmed. Taeyong reaches for his gun and takes the safety off.

‘Tony probably forgot something,’ Jimin whispers, but he can’t even convince himself, let alone a gang member who is bound to be always paranoid.

They stand up and go to the door. Jimin swallows, hearing Yoongi’s voice, whispering and reminding him to check who’s at the door.

Taeyong positions himself inside the walk-in wardrobe behind the door and raises his gun. Jimin waits for his nod before looking into the peephole.

‘Fuck,’ he gasps out loud when he sees who’s standing there, unable to hold back. His heart starts beating wildly, and he grips the handle, ready to die before he opens it.

‘I’m happy to see you too, Jimin,’ Taehyung’s father says from behind the door. ‘Open up.’

  
VI

For years, the club now known as the _Triple H_ has functioned exclusively as the place of pleasure for the darkest souls in the city. Uranus never bothered with covering his tracks — everybody along the river and beyond knew who he was and what kind of establishment he ran. The police were as corrupt as ever, not mentioning that half the force were regulars there. Yoongi remembers those days only faintly because his interest didn’t lie in checking in on brothels back then.

Later, when Cronus had left them with a wrecked city, a man they all know as _that asshole Kim_ got promoted to a police captain due to the majority of the force being wiped out in the wake of their protector kicking it in the bucket. The new order was established, with Aether’s people all over the precincts, and yet the one that Taehyung’s father now ran stayed pristine. That is why, upon Uranus losing his guts all over his living room, the new owner, Lee Hwitaek, has established, along with the new rules of the brothel, something of a cover-up. A nightclub, concealing the entrance into the true joy a lot of people came looking for.

The front of the building now looks like your average run-of-the-mill elite nightclub that lets in only the selected crowd. But if you knew your way, and had a proper face and status, you could enter into the true essence of the _Triple H,_ where pleasure resides along with the best escort this city has ever known.

They enter through the club. Ten doesn’t feel comfortable enough to be thrown into the atmosphere of the _Triple H,_ even though it’s been renovated and completely redecorated since he was last here. Besides, Yoongi is curious as to how the club looks in the light of day.

The club at the front of the Underworld isn’t an exciting place when it’s closed since it hosts mainly their gangsters discussing their plans and awaiting orders. Here, though, the lights are dimmed enough to still emanate the mood of the elite place. Some soft electro-pop is playing in the background, and a few waiters are scattered here and there. It’s eight in the morning, which means the club has just recently closed, and if Yoongi didn’t know where the service entrance is, they’d have to wait for someone to let them in. It’s not like he meant for them to drop in unannounced but Ten looked too pale to wait for Yoongi to get in touch with the trio and appoint a meeting. Now or never, he had said, and Yoongi had understood.

Nobody pays them a lot of attention, since they look like the people who would come here knowing exactly what they want, plus Yoongi trusts the workers to recognize his signature jacket with skulls on the lapels and realize that he shouldn’t be messed with.

‘You good?’ Yoongi asks, turning to Ten, who’s gripping his stomach as if he’s sick.

‘For now,’ the boy whispers. Yoongi regrets his decision for a second but then thinks that it was Ten who agreed to come here.

‘Alright.’

He sighs and leads them further, to a concealed entrance behind the scene. There’s a bouncer, of course there is, and he looks like he’s new because Yoongi doesn’t recognize the face with a broken nose and dull eyes. Plus, he makes a motion as if to stop Yoongi from entering, and honestly, he’s already riled up enough.

‘Password,’ the bouncer grunts, and Yoongi wants to shoot him.

‘I’m Ares,’ he grits out, barely holding himself back from reaching for his gun.

‘That’s not a password.’

Yoongi raises his eyebrows and chuckles darkly.

‘Yeah, dumbass, it’s my name. The one you should be familiar with.’

Yoongi feels a hand on his shoulder and turns to glare at Ten for interrupting him, yet when he sees who’s touching him, all the anger leaves him. He bows his head a little and takes the hand on his shoulder in his palm.

‘Eros.’

Hyuck looks as fresh as ever, young face in the red light with a soft smile on his lips. Ares kisses his fingers as the gesture of respect and knowing his place. Even though this boy is almost twice his age and is nothing but a pleasure host, he has powerful patrons, one of whom Yoongi directly responds to. Jungkook’s and Triple H’s orders about Eros are clear and unarguable. Only a selected few are allowed to touch him, and if anyone dares to cause harm to the boy — they won’t see the next day. There’s already proof, the unfortunate Yago case who tried to take Hyuck in front of Hwitaek and paid for it with his life.

‘Forgive the new guy, Ares.’ Hyuck smiles and steps to the entrance. He looks up into the face of the bouncer, and the contrast shows how different of a status they have — a giant guy’s face is scared and hesitant like he’s not sure as to whether he’ll survive not letting in the man who’s one of the few allowed to touch Eros. ‘I thought you studied the files I gave you.’

‘I did.’ The guy swallows. He looks at Yoongi, his eyes zeroing in on his jacket and the tattoos that can be seen on his neck. ‘I didn’t notice that this is Ares.’

‘Be more careful next time,’ Hyuck says quietly and opens the door, leading them in. Yoongi glares at the guy who’s looking so relieved he might pass out right here and now.

‘You have files on us?’ He wonders while they walk down the dark corridor.

‘Only the basics that the newbies need to recognize the ones they always have to let in.’ Hyuck shrugs. ‘No pictures or incriminating information, don’t worry. They learn what you all are famous for verbally. I can’t afford it all to be on paper. Never know what hands those files can end up in.’

‘Smart,’ Yoongi notes, nodding. ‘How have you been, Eros?’

‘You can call me by name, Yoongi, we agreed upon it.' The boy half-turns, a soft smile evident. His light brown hair with rainbow streaks is glowing in all the headlights they pass.

‘Just a courtesy,’ Yoongi chuckles.

He turns to look at Ten who seems to have gathered himself. He looks stone-faced, his hand in the usual position on his jacket where his holster is located under. Yoongi nods to himself. His training works.

‘I’m better than I was a few days ago,’ Hyuck says meanwhile, shrugging with one shoulder. ‘I’m sure you’ve heard of the incident.’

‘I have.’ Yoongi nods grimly. ‘I regret not being here to handle that myself.’

Hyuck stops before the big wooden door, his palm on the handle, and turns to look at Yoongi. He sighs.

‘When will you see that not everything is your responsibility, my dear Ares?’

It reminds him of something, like a distant dream, and he thinks about Jimin.

‘When people I care about stop getting hurt,’ he responds in a hoarse voice.

They look at each other in silence for a few seconds until Hyuck nods slightly.

‘It’s an honor to be the one you care about.’

He doesn’t wait for an answer, turning around and opening the door to let them into the real club.

It’s not Yoongi’s first time here, so he looks at Ten, preparing himself for anything, a slight change in Ten’s face that will tell Yoongi that he needs to get the boy out. He seems stoic, though, so they proceed into the lobby.

There are a few people scattered here and there, mostly workers, dressed in expensive lingerie and emanating the aura of creatures that can help anyone forget all their troubles.

‘It’s certainly different,’ Ten croaks and clears his throat. ‘More welcoming.’

Hyuck turns to look at him, and there’s a beat of silence when he’s assessing Ten, his head tilted a bit.

‘It truly is, Tenth.’

Ten’s head snaps at this, his jaw clenched.

‘I know you don’t like being called that,’ Hyuck drawls out. ‘Yet it is your past, darling.’

‘I’ve put it behind me.’ Ten frowns. ‘And I don’t want to revisit it. Ever.’

Hyuck giggles softly, the bracelets on his wrists clicking loudly as he covers his lips.

‘You’re running with the deadliest of them these days,’ Hyuck muses. ‘Have you ever stopped to wonder if you’re running _alongside_ them, or running from _something_ , with them accidentally by your side?’

Ten looks at him intently, swallowing. There’s sweat on his forehead. Yoongi hopes his stitches haven’t opened, or Taeyong will have his head.

‘I’m not Tenth anymore,’ Ten grits out.

‘Yes. Yet you still allow it to control you.’ Hyuck sighs and fixes his sleeves. ‘You’re fixating on the part where Uranus had ruled over your life. You forget that the asshole is rotting in the ground. He gave you your identity, no matter how cruel, and you don’t even try to reclaim it as something more powerful.’

‘Powerful?’ Ten chuckles darkly.

‘I don’t have a past.’ Hyuck shrugs, pouting. ‘Not the one I remember, at least. Being Eros is the only thing I know and have.’

Yoongi knows this — remembers Jungkook telling him about the boy he found in the hospital, his body fatigued and his memory blank. He sighs.

‘I was given this life, just as you are given yours.’ Hyuck looks up and into Ten’s eyes. ‘Don’t you wish to have something to yourself?’

They don’t get to finish the conversation. The door a few feet from them opens, revealing Hyojong dressed in an immaculate golden suit. It’s atrocious, yet on him, it looks perfect. Yoongi almost snorts.

‘Ten,’ Hyojong breathes out, drilling the boy with his eyes. There’s a smile on his red lips, and his palm is gripping the door handle as if he’s trying to restrain himself from reaching out.

There’s a beat of silence where Ten looks back, his face pale and his Adam’s Apple bobbing as he swallows nervously.

‘Brother,’ he whispers, at last, inclining his head.

Jong’s smile grows at that, painting his features with a sun-like beauty. He steps forward, wrapping himself around Ten who hugs him back, holding tightly. Yoongi purses his lips to keep from smiling. It seems like Ten has truly forgiven. He wishes he was more successful in handling his feelings.

‘I’m so happy you’re here,’ Hyojong whispers as Hwitaek emerges from the room, his gaze disbelieving. He looks at Yoongi.

‘It was quick.’

‘It was long overdue,’ Ten answers instead of Yoongi, extending one arm to bring Dionysus into the hug too.

There’s a soft female voice coming from the room, and Hwitaek beckons them inside.

The sight Yoongi witnesses shouldn’t surprise him, yet he still finds himself lifting his eyebrows.

Inside the Triple H office, on a huge red couch, Hyuna is lounging, her blue dress a mirage of cosmos around her body. Her beauty isn’t what’s unusual, though.

Beside Hyuna, with her head on mighty Artemis’ lap, Lisa is lying down, only what looks like a swimming suit on her tanned body. She looks up at the newcomers and stands up, a blinding grin on her scarlet lips.

‘Yoonie!’ She calls out, sprinting up and into his embrace so fast he barely manages to catch her and stay upright. She always had rather peculiar talents, unusual speed and strength among them.

‘Hestia,’ he hums into her hair that smells like sandalwood and blood. ‘Fancy catching you here.’

‘I was returning Hyuna’s handkerchief to her,’ she giggles. Yoongi will probably never stop wondering how one of the deadliest assassins he knows can be so... bright. He thinks about Jimin again, and how his gentle and soft features hide a firing spirit.

‘So you strolled through the Olympus in a— swimming suit?’ He chuckles in disbelief.

‘Well, you know.’ She rolls her eyes.

‘I really don’t,’ he laughs. That’s why he loves Lisa — she’s an irreplaceable ally in a fight and a bright presence that can always lift his mood in regular life.

There are, of course, demons lurking behind her irises, yet who out of them doesn’t have a few devils inside? That’s how they survive.

Behind them, Hyuna is wrapped around Ten, and it looks like she’s crying, but he doesn’t think he needs to know.

‘I missed your stupid face,’ she sniffs, and Ten chuckles into her soft hair.

‘I’m sorry it took me so long,’ he says quietly, gripping her as if his sanity depends on it.

‘No,’ she says sharply, leaning back to look at his face. ‘Never apologize. Not to me. Not to anyone.’

There’s a beat of silence, and Ten nods, kissing her forehead.

‘I miss your fierceness,’ he confesses.

Hwitaek and Hyojong are smiling beside them, and it looks so quiet and domestic that Yoongi turns his attention back to Hestia, who’s entertaining herself by playing with the dagger she pulled out of Yoongi’s sleeve while he wasn’t looking.

‘You’re sneaky,’ he snorts, softly taking the weapon from her arms. It’s Jimin’s.

‘Hey, you always let me use your toys.’ She pouts.

‘There’s no one to use it on,’ he placates her while hiding the dagger back inside. ‘And this one is a gift.’

‘Oh, what a turn of events,’ she cooes.

Even though he’s talking to Lisa, he still feels mildly uncomfortable being near the reunited family, as if he’s intruding. Hyuck looks fine, though, but considering his line on work, Yoongi doubts the boy can be fazed by anything. Just as he’s about to ask Eros where he can have a drink with Lisa while the reconnaissance is happening, a tall girl dressed in a pink satin gown comes up to him, tilting her chin slightly.

‘Eros,’ she calls out softly, careful as to not look at her bosses having a moment right in front of her. ‘There is a matter requiring your attention. A client is being difficult in room seventeen.’

Hyuck sighs and looks up at Yoongi.

‘Would you mind coming with me?’ He wonders. ‘So that I don’t have to call the guards and you have something to do.’

Yoongi looks at Hestia, a question in his eyes.

‘I was leaving anyway.' She shrugs and goes back to the couch to retrieve her jeans and a crop top.

‘I knew you didn’t come here like that,’ Yoongi snorts and rolls his eyes.

‘Gotta keep ‘em wondering.’ Lisa smiles, dressing quickly. ‘My sun?’

She comes up to Hyuna and, when Yoongi expects them to hug goodbye, kisses her firmly on the lips. Once again, Yoongi shouldn’t be surprised, yet he still finds himself opening his mouth a little.

A Brazilian drama they all are, for sure.

‘Bye, boys.’ She wriggles her fingers at them and leaves through the backdoor that was concealed behind a curtain before. In hindsight, it might’ve been a window. He wouldn’t be surprised.

‘Shall we?’ Hyuck gestures to the door.

‘Come find me when you’re ready to go.’ Yoongi signals at Ten and leaves the room after a curt nod from the Calaïs.

The matter of a difficult client settles itself quickly when the guy sees who comes to see him. Eros is a terrifying sight to behold when he’s alone, considering his status, but when he’s followed by Ares, well, nobody wants to have those hands on their ribs. All it takes is for Yoongi to wave his hand at the man sarcastically, and he starts apologizing profusely, leaving in haste with his wallet still lying on the bed stand.

Hyuck picks it up and looks inside.

‘The cash is your pay for today, darling,’ he says, giving the wallet to the mildly disheveled boy on the bed. The guy lights up and bows to Eros. ‘Give the wallet over to reception, tell them to send it to Louis, it’s one of his. Don’t forget to write a full account of what happened, I’ll sign off on it later.’

‘He’ll just get away with this?’ Yoongi frowns, looking at the reddening skin on the boy's neck.

Hyuck snorts as they leave the room.

‘No, I bet he’ll be dead within twenty minutes of Louis getting the package.’ Hyuck fixes his robe. ‘The man really hates when his people take what isn’t theirs, and I know for a fact he’s not pleased with this idiot already.’

‘You certainly know a lot,’ Yoongi chuckles. ‘I think I’ve seen him twice at best. We don’t really deal with Outsiders.’

‘Our club is popular even beyond the river.’ Eros shrugs.

Only now Yoongi realizes that he has no idea where they’re going. He’s just following Hyuck blindly, and it makes him see why the boy is Eros. He has an alluring aura around him, the one that beckons and leads, and it’s not Yoongi’s fault that his distracted mind followed.

He looks at the dark corridor they’re in, and just as he’s about to ask where they are, Hyuck stops before a black door with a number ‘XI’ on it.

‘This one's for you,’ he says, a shit-eating grin on his face.

‘Excuse me?’ Yoongi sputters. He knows Hyuna promised to find him someone to distract, but he never really agreed to it, and besides, when did she have the time?

‘Don’t ask how.’ Eros rolls his eyes. ‘And he’s not there for the sex. Well. I’m pretty sure he’d be up for it if you asked, but his primary purpose is of a different nature.’

‘Listen, I have matters to attend to,’ Yoongi tries, but Hyuck is already opening the door, not listening to the word Yoongi is saying.

‘I’ve checked with Taeyong.' He shrugs, his half-lidded eyes crinkling with self-satisfaction. ‘You were planning to go to sleep upon returning home.’

He leaves then, opening the door cracked and Yoongi baffled and slightly mad. He hates when people make decisions for him. He stands there, looking at Eros’ retreating back and trying to calculate the backlash he’ll face from hitting Hyuck over the head like the little brat he is.

‘There’s gonna be a draft.’

The voice that comes from the room sounds sweet and fresh, and so young Yoongi falters. He knows for a fact _Triple H_ doesn’t employ minors. The rules around the city are strange by regular people’s standards, but they have one thing settled — don’t deal to and with kids.

His curiosity gets the best of him. He sighs and opens the door fully, stepping into the room and taking it in. It’s in grey and gold colors, a rather striking combination looking harmonically splashed on velvet wallpaper and a few loveseats scattered around. There’s a weirdly big amount of mirrors on the wall, and he tries not to focus on the reflection much when he passes them on his way to the person sitting in the farthest armchair. He knows he looks like shit. He doesn’t need visual confirmation.

Now, the boy waiting for him is definitely not underage, even though he looks fresh and bright, white hair complementing his oval face and sharp cheekbones. He somehow reminds Yoongi of Taeyong back when the latter was trying to cosplay Jack Frost, but the look in his eyes is different. Taeyong was trying to freeze out the pain out of his eyes. The boy here looks warm, his cheeky smile a pleasant sight on a tanned face.

‘Welcome, Ares.’ He inclines his head and gestures at the loveseat nearest to him. There’s a journal table between the armchairs, with a covered silver tray on top of it. Yoongi wonders what’s inside and if it’s dangerous but wills his paranoia away — there’s already too much of suspicion in their lives; he doesn’t need adding not trusting Triple H to the long list.

‘Howdy,’ Yoongi says dryly. He lowers himself, still unable to relax. Some part of the reason he can’t unwind is still not knowing what’s going on; another is simple — he fears that if he allows his muscles a relief, he’ll collapse right here. Jimin was right — Yoongi hasn’t slept in a long time, since before the meeting with Olympus, which makes about forty hours of him being awake.

‘I’m Hyunggu.' The boy smiles wider. ‘But people usually call me Kino.’

Yoongi racks his brain and finds the name distantly familiar. He’s probably heard about him from someone somewhere at some point. With his line of work, it’s hard to memorize every single piece of data coming his way. After all, he’s not some Vulcan, so eidetic memory isn’t a luxury he possesses.

‘What’s the boy like you doing in a place like this?’ Yoongi comments darkly, unable to resist the urge to be snarky. He’s exhausted. Kino still hasn’t told him what’s he doing here. He has a moral right to be an asshole.

‘Working, naturally.’ Kino shrugs and chuckles. ‘I do a lot of things, you know. Including, but not limited to, talking to people.’

Yoongi’s eyebrows fly up, and for a second he suspects that he passed out after all, and now he’s dreaming.

‘Talking?’ He repeats, incredulous. ‘So what, you’re like a shrink around here?’

‘More or less,’ Kino answers, his fingers playing with the buttons on his shirt. ‘I mainly just allow someone to vent. I don’t judge. I don’t spill secrets outside this room. I even occasionally give advice, if it is needed.’

‘Interesting. A shrink priest.’

Kino laughs at that, rubbing his lips.

‘If you really want to put a label on it,’ he mumbles, chuckling. ‘Only with me, you don’t have to undergo the deceptively safe process of a confession. And I don’t lie to you, saying that all your sins are forgiven. No. I tell you all your sins had a reason.’

They sit in silence for a while, and Yoongi contemplates saying fuck it and going through with the venting thing. He doesn’t lack people he can openly talk to, but something feels different about Kino. He’s not Hoseok, who will always try to help Yoongi against his will. He’s not Seunghyun, focused too much on everything happening according to orders. He’s not Jungkook, who cares about the well-being of Ares and his affairs before he remembers that Yoongi with his own soul exists too (and Yoongi doesn’t blame him; never would; a man responsible for the lives of hundreds of criminals can only handle so much; Yoongi will rarely burden him with his issues). He’s not countless acquaintances Yoongi has in the city and beyond who are familiar enough to talk business but not close enough to hear about his problems. And he’s not Jimin, who isn’t even sure himself that he wants to hear anything coming from Yoongi.

No. He’s Hyunggu, also known as Kino, also known as the person who sits across Yoongi and offers him relief from every little piece of soul-garbage that’s cramping up his head-space.

‘Alright, then.’ Yoongi clears his throat.

Kino smiles blindingly and leans forward, removing the lid from the tray to reveal two glasses and a bottle of what looks like whiskey. Yoongi chuckles.

‘That’s your method of untying my tongue?’ He wonders.

‘Nah,’ Kino objects softly, pouring himself a glass. ‘It’s my method of handling what comes out of your mouth.’

Yoongi watches him take a sip while he pours his own glass. Whiskey is soft and tinge too light for him, but it will do. He allows his brain to start spiraling.

‘So.’ He leans back in his chair, tracing his glass with his finger. ‘Where to start?’

//

It takes him an hour and about forty murder stories to get to the issue of Jimin. He can see Kino sensing that there’s a topic Yoongi is actively avoiding, and to his name, he doesn’t press, just waits patiently for Yoongi to bring it up or walk out of here without a word spilled about his boy.

Yoongi isn’t a lightweight but they’ve handled a whole bottle between two of them, and it’s enough for his reluctance to discuss the civilians of his heart to slowly subside, leaving place for a desperate clinging sensation of wanting to get it off his chest.

‘He’s fierce,’ he breathes out after a few minutes of silence. Kino looks up from his glass, his eyes as glinting and interested, not a trace of relief about Yoongi finally talking about something he truly wants too. Yoongi appreciates it. ‘He’s a simple student, seemingly minding his own business, but there’s something— something itching under his skin. Like he wants to run, but he doesn’t see the purpose.’

‘Would you like to give him that purpose?’ Kino wonders, taking a sip.

Yoongi suddenly wants to smoke. He pulls out a pack and shows it to Kino, silently asking permission. Kino nods slightly and pulls out an ashtray and a lighter from under the table, and then opens a small window Yoongi didn’t know was there behind a curtain. He can see the bright light outside, but no sun. Lovely. He loves it when it’s cloudy.

Yoongi doesn’t bother looking for his own lighter. Partly because he doesn’t want to find it missing again and start thinking about that too hard. He picks up an ordered one and lights his cigarette. The smoke feels lighter on his tongue like it always does when he’s drinking, yet it does nothing to release the tension in his ribs.

‘I would like for him to be happy.’ He rubs his lips with his thumb. ‘And I don’t think I can grant him that.’

‘Because you’re a criminal?’ Kino wonders, causing Yoongi to chuckle.

‘Nah.’ He breathes out. ‘He would be the most protected guy in this city. In some ways, he already is. And I don’t think that he, given a choice, would back out of being with someone who does what I do. I think it’d excite him. And he would learn very fast how to survive. He’s resilient like that.’

‘Then what is it?’ Kino tilts his head. ‘He’s taken?’

‘Yes, and no.’

‘Elaborate.’

Yoongi takes a deep breath and rubs his eyes. Takes a drag, listening to the paper burn. Slowly releases the smoke, watching it go up and away to the window.

‘I give him and his boyfriend two months, tops,’ he finally says. ‘And not because I’m jealous. There’s something in the way they interact that seems almost fake, only neither of them seems to notice it.’

‘What do you mean?’ Kino takes a sip of his whiskey. Yoongi notices that he has a tattoo on the inner side of his wrist.

‘Do you feel in control of your life?’ Yoongi asks instead of answering. He’s leading up to something, though, and Kino senses it, so he squints his eyes, thinking over the questions. Yoongi elaborates. ‘Do you get this feeling sometimes that up until a certain point, everything seemed so smooth and planned out, but then it became chaotic... As if someone wrote the script, but got bored halfway and only indicated the turning points, leaving the rest to fate?’

‘Yes, actually,’ Kino says even before Yoongi can finish the question. ‘Like I finally have some control, but it’s limited. Like it’s a video game, and I have certain checkpoints I need to reach, yet everything in-between is up to me to decide.’

‘Bingo.’ Yoongi raises a finger on the hand that holds the glass. ‘You’re not the first person I’ve talked about this with, and I’m yet to meet someone that doesn’t feel this way.’

‘Wow,’ Kino breathes out, looking at him but not seeing it. ‘It’s like I knew this but didn’t realize until you pointed it out.’

‘You’re welcome,’ Yoongi chuckles. ‘Well, it’s the same with Jimin and his boy-toy. Getting together was their checkpoint, only they’re not aware of it, or of the fact that there’s some scenario at all. They act the way they do because they believe that what’s supposed to happen.’

‘And you believe that breaking up is another checkpoint for them?’ Kino wonders, and Yoongi sees something in his eyes — not pity or compassion, but understanding.

‘I— I wish for it,’ Yoongi confesses. ‘I wish for that man to get away from Jimin because I feel he’s bad news.’

‘Worse than you?’

‘The same capacity, yet different connotation.’

‘Fascinating.’

They stay silent for a while, and Yoongi watches the rest of his cigarette burn out.

‘You didn’t answer my initial question,’ Kino says at some point.

Yoongi lifts his hazed gaze to him, confused for a second. But then he remembers that Kino wondered why Yoongi didn’t think he could grant Jimin happiness. He swallows.

‘There’s something he’s fighting,’ Yoongi whispers. He knows Kino will hear him anyway. ‘Something he needs to battle on his own. Something he needs to face alone.’

‘Why can’t you help him?’

‘Because he’d hate it,’ Yoongi chuckles, but it sounds more like a suppressed sob. He lights another cigarette and leans forward, putting his elbows on his knees and hiding his face in his hands. The cigarette is dangling between his fingers, and for some insane moment, he wishes for it to fall and burn him to ashes.

‘He’s so independent, fuck, he could probably do without anyone. He has people in his life he cares for, and he claims he’d kill for them, and I’m sure he would, yet I know, I just know he would survive on his own. I think—‘

He breaks off then, lifting his head up when it hits him, the thought that came out of nowhere yet seems so right it’s almost sad how he didn’t see it before.

‘He’s afraid of something,' he whispers, his mouth suddenly dry. ‘He’s acting as if his life is perfect, but it’s too obvious to be accidental. He does not wish to run; he’s already running.’

‘From what?’

‘I don’t know.’ Yoongi’s mind is suddenly racing, and he thinks back to this night when he spent an hour trying to make himself take Jimin back to bed. He thinks about looking at his face and not thinking it calm but rather conflicted. There’s something in his dreams that’s trying to break into the reality, yet Jimin isn’t letting it. What is he hiding? What is he afraid of? What’s so powerful as to render a boy like Jimin, fierce and fearless, terrified?

‘Does he know about it?’ Kino asks a precisely correct question.

‘I’m not sure. But it will catch up to him soon enough,’ Yoongi muses. He feels dizzy. ‘And I need to get away before it does, before the urge to catch him becomes too strong.’

‘But why?’ His interlocutor pleads almost desperately because they’ve been going towards this fucking catharsis for almost two hours now yet Yoongi refuses to admit it out loud. ‘Why can’t you be there for him? You already said that your profession doesn’t matter, and I can see how deeply he affects you. Why can’t you take a step towards him?’

‘Because I won’t be able to let go,’ Yoongi snaps. The memories of all their interactions come rushing in, and it hurts, it hurts that he knows what he feels deep inside, he knows yet he can’t admit it just yet, not so soon, not so fast, not when he can still prevent it. ‘Because I’m falling in love with him, and I can’t even stand a thought of him loving me back. Because he’s strong enough to handle my life, but I’m not strong enough to see what it can turn him into.’

Kino closes his eyes, slumping against his seat.

‘You’re a fool, Ares,’ he concludes. For some reason, it doesn’t make Yoongi angry. Just resigned. ‘But I wish you happiness, you know? I wish your boy to face his darkness and emerge stronger. I wish to meet you one day with him at your side, and see the confirmation of what I already know.’

‘And what’s that?’ Yoongi whispers hoarsely.

‘That whoever could catch the eye of the Ares to a point the mighty god of war is willing to admit he has feelings is the only one worthy of the life of Aphrodite.’

‘That doesn’t make any sense.’

‘It will. Trust me. It will.’

//

Yoongi leaves Hyunggu another hour later, with a promise to come back or at least stay in touch, and Ten at his side, looking tired but happy.

‘Got everything resolved?’ He asks his soldier, leaning against the back door of the club and sucking on his cigarette. The alcohol has settled in his bones, and now he’s reminded of how tired he is. He wraps his jacket tighter around him. It’s April already, but it’s still cold. He likes it. It’s about two in the afternoon, and he really, terribly wants to sleep.

‘Yeah,’ Ten breathes out, a happy smile tugging at his lips. ‘I wish I could've done it sooner.’

‘We all wish for something,’ Yoongi says tiredly and waves his hand when Ten looks at him worriedly. ‘Nevermind.’

He pulls out his keys from the pocket and tosses them to Ten.

‘Could you bring the bike around?’ He says. His speech is slurry, the alcohol and exhaustion taking its toll.

‘Seriously?’ Ten asks incredulously, his eyes alight with child-like excitement, and Yoongi suddenly remembers that the kid is twenty-four yet he barely had any opportunities to be that — a kid. ‘You never let us drive your bike.’

‘Well, I’m not in any state to drive.’ Yoongi shrugs. ‘And you had a hard day, you deserve it. Just don’t tell about it to others, they’ll think I’m picking favorites.’

‘We both know I _am_ your favorite.’ Ten grins cheekily, and Yoongi rolls his eyes.

‘Go get it before I change my mind and make us walk back home.’

Ten giggles like a schoolboy and leaves, a spring to his step that make Yoongi smile. He’s not such an asshole, after all.

He takes a drag and pulls out his phone. There are about seven messages from Taeyong, but they’re all not-so-subtle inquires about Ten, so he ignores them for now in favor of going to his contacts. His finger hovers for a few seconds over Jimin’s name, but he presses it anyway. He allows himself the luxury of justifying it by his inebriated state.

It rings long enough for him to start worrying, even though he knows that Taeyong would notify him if something happens. And if not Taeyong, Yoongi has other means of making sure the apartment is safe, and those are silent, so he chews on his lips, waiting for the voicemail to kick in.

_‘Hi, this is Jimin. It’s the 21st century, so if I’m not answering your calls, it means I’m not in a mood to talk. Just text me so I can pretend I don’t see your messages.’_

Yoongi can’t help it — he snorts so loudly he starts coughing. Jesus, Jimin is something.

He’s supposed to start talking now, but his mouth is dry, and his mind is empty.

Finally, he breathes out and closes his eyes.

‘You matter, you know?’ He swallows. ‘You matter so fucking much, Jiminie. I know you hate my nicknames, but I’m sorry if you affect me so much that I— Why do you hate them, though?’ He wonders and licks his lips. ‘Are you affected as much? I wish I could see inside your mind... I wish. I wish for so many things about you. I’m sorry I do. I promise I’ll fix it. Just— just let me. Let me fix it. And never forget that you’re more beautiful and important than anyone in this fucking city. You just— You matter.’

He hangs up then before he can say even more useless shit. He already regrets it. He’ll probably pretend he doesn’t remember it when they meet. It will spare them both the awkwardness. He’ll just pretend.

_What more are you going to pretend not to feel?_

The voice is familiar, yet he can’t place it. Someone in his head talking isn’t shocking, since he just spent a few hours unloading his soul to an almost-therapist, yet he knows it isn’t Kino’s voice. Jimin, perhaps? But Jimin has never talked so softly to him.

Ten arrives just in time to prevent Yoongi from overthinking it. He throws out his cigarette and climbs onto his bike behind Ten, feeling her purr under his thighs.

‘Hit it,' he grunts and leans against Ten’s back, wishing for his head to stop spinning.

‘As you wish, boss.’

VI

Contrary to popular belief, having hundreds of people reporting to him doesn’t mean that Namjoon has his work cut out for him. It takes a lot of strength to rule over a mob, and it takes even more to have them obey.

Joon loves power. Has since before he can remember, always seeking the ways he can control people, always pinpointing their weaknesses and memorizing them to use in the future, always calculating. Having Jin by his side since childhood helped him because nobody could ever truly understand Namjoon the way Jin does. It sometimes seems that they have one mind. They understand each other to a point Namjoon trusts Jin to make decisions in his absence. It would seem dangerous to someone yet not to him.

He knows people talk. They speculate and gossip. How can Zeus trust a man who always knows everything? Isn’t he afraid that Mnemosyne will want more power one day? Does he know he’s bedding a ticking bomb?

They can say whatever they want. Namjoon knows that nobody truly believes what they say, for they’re well aware of what happens to those questioning the Olympus bosses. They never talk again.

And Joon isn’t afraid. Seokjin is the only person in the city and beyond that Namjoon truly trusts. They’ve known each other since childhood, and Namjoon loves him as much as he loves being in control, if not more. He’s not delusional — he knows it would’ve taken him forever to get where he is without Seokjin by his side. He knows Jin will never betray him, because the sole reason Mnemosyne is what he is, always knowing and remembering and thinking, is the fact that he is protecting Zeus’ position.

A less smart man would suspect himself being blinded by love. But for Namjoon, the existence of a romantic relationship between them is the only proof he needs.

He touches his chest where a tattoo of Seokjin’s initials is over his heart and smiles softly. It’s probably unbecoming and unwise of him — to be in love with his advisor. To be in love, period. He cannot possibly find it in himself to care.

The day is coming to an end outside his window when he realizes he’s almost missed his appointment. Seokjin is out, meeting with Hypnos to find out the results of Hypnos’ little test on the man who tried to kill Zeus yesterday.

Namjoon gathers the papers he’s been working on and stands up, putting them away in the safe. He closes it, and the second the lock clicks, there’s a knock on his door, and he calls out for his guest to enter.

‘Brother,’ Taemin greets him as he enters, and Namjoon finds himself smiling slightly at his step-sibling.

‘Hera,’ he responds, not missing the slight frown on the man’s face. ‘Is everything alright?’

‘Just wanted to check in on you.’ Taemin half-shrugs. ‘Seokjin seemed... distressed when he was leaving today.’

Namjoon sighs. He knows Seokjin and Taemin don’t get along, mainly because of the former, and it’s a strange thing when you think that Jin was the one who convinced Cronus to take Taemin in.

‘I’m as good as I can be,’ Namjoon ensures him, walking around his table and putting his hand on Taemin’s shoulder. ‘Are you?’

‘Sure.’

It seems that they can bid their goodbyes, but he can see something worrying Taemin. He sighs.

‘Are you certain?’

‘I feel— uneasy,’ Taemin confesses. ‘Moirai are snappy lately. They feel something.’

Now, not a lot of people would expect it, or believe it if they heard, but criminals tend to be a superstitious folk. Especially them, all with strange occurrences and peculiar instances of a thing some of them like to call ‘powers’ appearing among them. Zeus can think of a lot of examples, one being a Hecate shop down at Underworld, where Jungwoo performs actual, out-of-this-world magic. They’ve long stopped questioning it. What is, is.

‘What do you mean?’ He inquires.

‘They’ve become more strict about letting people in.’ Taemin frowns. His arms are crossed on his chest, and he rubs his lips with his fingers.

‘It figures, all with the attacks and these— Yago issues.’

‘It’s not that.’ Taemin shakes his head. ‘They’re expecting someone. Someone in particular. They say it’s going to change everything, but they refuse to tell us who that is.’

Namjoon sighs and rubs his face. Glances at the clock. It’s not that his meeting can’t be postponed, since the other person doesn’t have any choice but to wait for him, but he still wishes he could leave already.

‘Keep an eye out for me, will you?’ He asks, squeezing Taemin’s shoulder as his stepbrother nods. ‘Kibum seems to spend a lot of his time with Minho. Ask him to be attentive, too.’

Taemin snickers into his palm.

‘Yeah, because he definitely pays attention when they meet.’ There’s humor in his eyes, and it reminds Namjoon of when they were little and started eavesdropping on their father’s meeting. Seokjin used to hate it. He always had a particular grudge against Taemin.

‘Still,’ Namjoon presses, smiling. ‘Now go rest.’

Taemin nods and departs, but the door doesn’t get to close behind him when there are two people entering. Namjoon sighs, recognizing Shownu in his pissed off mood. It’s evident from his face and the way he’s gripping the collar of the man beside him.

He throws the man to Zeus’ feet, and Namjoon gathers himself, ready to unleash his wrath or something to that extent.

‘Explain yourself,’ he drawls out. There must be a reason Shownu is mad enough to drag this guy halfway across the city to Zeus out of all people, considering his crew doesn’t answer to Olympus. Shownu is one of Underworld gangs' leader, and Namjoon remembers Seokjin naming Monsta as one of the crews Yoongi had put as the exchange guards.

‘I simply wanted to work,’ the man greets out, and Namjoon curves his eyebrow, looking at Shownu. The man shakes his head angrily. Namjoon kicks the man in the face, grateful that he’s not wearing his favorite leather shoes.

The man’s hand fly up to cover his face, where blood starts pooling from his broken nose. Good. Namjoon loves when he can do damage with so little effort.

‘He tried to sell to a kid,’ Shownu positively seethes. ‘And don’t try to spew that bullshit about him looking older, the kid obviously looked thirteen even before you tried to molest him.’

At this, Namjoon sees red. It’s one thing to try and deal drugs to children since they have a steady preventive system, but sexual abuse is a thing nobody who knows their shit will stand. For a second, Namjoon is glad he sent Seunghyun to run some errands because he wants to deal with this himself.

He doesn’t wait for the man to try and redeem himself. He knows all the Underworld men get paid enough to be truthful to the brass.

And so, he doesn’t feel any hesitation as he starts beating into the man, first with his feet, but when it doesn’t feel like enough — with his bare hands. The blood squishes on his knuckles in a weirdly satisfying way, and he revels in the sounds of man’s bones crushing under his fists.

He punches him until the man stops whimpering and then some more. Finally, when his knuckles are bruised and his breath is hitched, he throws the assailant on the floor like a rag doll and steps away, trying to calm down.

‘Thank you,’ he murmurs to Shownu who’s been standing at the side, watching the entire scene with a look of grim satisfaction on his face. Considering that he runs under Ares, Namjoon isn’t surprised. Yoongi sure knows how to train them.

‘My pleasure.’ Shownu nods and comes closer, spitting on the man. ‘What do you want me to do with it?’

Namjoon thinks over it as he wipes his hands with a silk handkerchief. He feels his gums with his tongue, realizing he bit his lip somewhere during the beating. It tastes familiar.

‘That door.' He nods to the one on the farthest right side of the room. ‘There are people who’ll take care of him. And talk to Iris on your way out. The tattooed guy with rainbow hair, Kibum,’ he clarifies, realizing not everyone knows everyone in this town, especially with their little exchange project going on. ‘Tell him what happened. He’s friends with the biggest tattletale in the city. Hermes will spread the word so that the scum like this one know the rules still hold.’

Shownu nods and grabs the unconscious man by his shirt to drug him to here Namjoon’s little executioner squad usually resides.

When his office is empty, he sighs and rubs his eyes.

As he walks down the corridor to his mansion, he thinks. Contrary to popular belief, having the smartest man in the city as his lover doesn’t grant Namjoon all the answers. On the contrary, all the information that comes through his mind only leaves him with more questions. He thinks about his father. The man seemed to hold nobody as close as Namjoon holds Seokjin, and he died just like he lived — alone and hated. Namjoon isn’t planning on dying soon, yet he already knows that he doesn’t wish the fate of his father upon himself or anyone from his family.

He passes the Muses training room on his way to the dungeons. Seokjin holds them dear to his heart yet Namjoon could never really connect to the nine boys. Well, eight, now when Mark has left their family to join another one. He knows Jin has plans for them, and he’s sure he can remember those plans if he racks his memory enough, but he trusts Mnemosyne to handle his ‘children’ himself. They’re not exactly soldiers but not really pawns. They’re— something.

It takes him another ten minutes and a few signed papers from the people he meets to finally make his appointment.

The room he’s aiming for is at the farthest end of the house, hidden deep within the confinement of the basement. Nobody knows how to get here expect for Namjoon, Seokjin, and the guard that takes care of the prisoner. Namjoon suspects a few more people know about the existence of the room, yet they never talk about it outside of this little corridor.

Namjoon sits down on the stool before the metal door and sighs.

‘It has been— a long day,’ he sighs and breathes out through his nose.

He can see soft blue light coming from the tiny barred window and wonders what their prisoner was up to before he came here. He’s never even heard the voice.

‘Tell me about it.’

Before today, apparently. It’s hoarse and high, and he thinks he remembers it differently.

‘You’re chatty today,’ he chuckles.

There’s rustling, and he sees a hand gripping the bars.

‘It’s almost time.’ The voice is elevated, happy almost.

‘For what?’ Namjoon frowns and stands up, coming close, but just as he’s about to look into the cell, the light disappears, and he’s met with darkness.

There’s no answer, and he feels the urge to kick the door and scream until there’s a response. He knows there’s no point. Has been in this state way too many times not to learn.

‘Be silent if you wish,’ he sighs and goes back to his chair. ‘I’m still going to talk.’

And he does just that. There’s silence as he rants about the things that happened today, but he thinks, and there is, of course, a possibility that he imagines it, that the voice whimpers a few times.

It wouldn’t be the first one. It’s been years, after all, and who wouldn’t go insane after being locked up for so long, their freedom stripped from them, their soul torn away, and their voice subdued? Namjoon definitely would.

What a grace, then, that he is on this side of the prison door.

VI

‘Part of me hoped you’d send someone else,’ Jiyong grits out, his hand gripping the doorframe where he’s standing, covering his office from Seokjin’s view.

Jin rolls his eyes and steps forward, walking inside past Hypnos. The room looks messy, but he knows there’s some kind of order, the system only Jiyong is privy to. And, well, maybe Seunghyun, too, but that’s the pot Seokjin isn’t so kin on stirring.

‘And hello to you, too, old friend,’ Seokjin sing-songs, looking around. ‘I let myself in.’

He gestures to behind him, where the main door behind a corridor is still open where he walked in, careless to any precautions. There’s nothing anyone in this wretched city can do to him, anyway. His assets, though — that’s the different tale.

‘I was under the impression you had everything under control.’

Seokjin sighs. Leave it to Jiyong to cut straight to the chase and ask the most important and, ironically, the most annoying question. He fixes his specs and turns to Hypnos. The man himself is leaning against the door, his tired eyes fixed on somewhere between Jin’s neck and his chest. He’s chewing on his lips — the habit that Seokjin’s been noticing since forever. His clothes are stained here and there, showing the story of a potion master.

‘Bold of you to assume I don’t,’ he says slowly, the corners of his lips turning up.

‘Would you just—‘ Jiyong snaps, and in one second he’s suddenly all motion — coming up to Seokjin in two long strikes and getting up in his face. Jin notices how they’re almost the same height — a curious observation to have for the first time in all these years. Jiyong smells like something sour and sweet at the same time, and Seokjin recognizes the smell. He’s been working on his sleeping drought again. ‘Stop this bullshit. Don’t play your games. Not with me.’

‘Or what?’ Seokjin wonders tiredly, tilting his head. ‘You’ll pull another OD?’

Jiyong sputters, stepping away and looking down. He swallows. Seokjin rolls his eyes.

‘You really thought I wouldn’t find out about your little stunt?’ He wonders, wiping at his cheek where some of Jiyong’s spit got when he was— enunciating. ‘Did a good job trying to cover it up, mind, but you forget who feeds all the info channels in this city.’

‘Did Ares tell you?’ Jiyong whispers, his hands clenched in fists.

‘Please,’ Jin snorts. ‘Yoongi wouldn’t give up his favorite drink without Jungkook’s say-so. I have my own ways.’

They’re quiet. Seokjin hears boiling and churning sounds from the next room, where Jiyong’s lab is.

‘You seem to really forget a lot of things,’ he draws out, stepping closer and touching Jiyong’s chin to make him look up. ‘I didn’t punish you that time, but don’t think I’m going to let anything else slide.’

‘You’re pathetic,’ Jiyong breathes out through his nose. ‘And you’re going to pay.’

‘Yeah, let’s just hope you won’t be around when the Judgement Day comes, eh?’ Seokjin laughs softly. ‘You’ve got plenty to pay for yourself, don’t you?’

He turns away then, stepping into the lab and looking around. The pots, flasks, vials, burners everywhere, the experiments happening, the drugs cooking. He sees the familiar pink liquid in one of the pots. Jiyong once invented a drug that is perfect for knocking people out. It’s quick, efficient, and untraceable save for one thing — its smell. Sour and sweet, like burned caramel. The one Seokjin sensed on Jiyong when he came in, and the one Hypnos can’t get rid of no matter how hard he tries. And oh sweet gods, is he trying. The one thing he always loved about Hypnos and his work — the perfectionism.

‘I’m here for your report,’ he calls out, going between the tables scattered here and there and watching the flurry of colors that is Jiyong’s cooking stations.

‘Why?’ Jiyong asks, walking behind him and checking up on his potions. ‘You already know what I have to tell.’

‘Let’s assume for a second I don’t.’ Jin shrugs and fixes his specs, turning to look at Jiyong. ‘What did you find in that idiot’s body?’

Jiyong seems to hesitate for a split second, but it’s enough for Seokjin to feel uneasy. They’ve always had their differences, but Hypnos always obeyed. What changed?

Jiyong goes to the farthest table and pushes it away, uncovering the secret room where, as Jin knows, he cooks up the most dangerous and powerful shit. He waits for the man to go inside and back to the lab. He’s holding a small vial, the purple gooey liquid inside of it.

‘This.’

Seokjin comes closer, trying to school his facial expression. He can’t have Jiyong know his true thoughts.

‘And?’ He wonders, raising his eyebrows. It’s stuffy in here, and he pulls at his collar to breathe easier.

‘And it’s not weird that they’re all acting this way,’ Jiyong explains, sighing. ‘It’s supposed to make a person pliant and easy to manipulate. You basically inject it, wait for it to kick in, which isn’t long, about five minutes or so, and then tell them what to do.’

‘Where’s the catch?’ Seokjin asks, observing the way that the potion moves inside the flask like it’s alive.

‘I haven’t finished it.’

This makes him look up. He blinks.

‘Someone stole this from me,’ Jiyong continues. ‘When it wasn’t done. Finished it himself. And used it, quite successfully.’

‘Well, did you have any break-ins?’ Seokjin asks impatiently.

‘No,’ Jiyong grits out. ‘Which means, it was someone close to me. Someone who knows my schedule, and knows about my secret room.’

‘And who’s that?’

Jiyong is silent, gritting his teeth, his fingers tight around the vial. Seokjin snorts.

‘What, you don’t trust me?’ He asks incredulously. ‘Or, you think it was me?’

The silence he’s met with makes him step away and scoff. Something unpleasant starts turning in his stomach.

‘Why would I do that and turn my own men against my own boss?’ He exclaims.

‘My question exactly,’ Jiyong scoffs. ‘But calm your tits, I’m still working on some theories.’

Seokjin swallows and walks away.

‘Where’s that guard?’ He asks, hoping his voice doesn’t betray the storm of emotions inside of him.

‘Died as soon as I took a sample of his blood.’ Jiyong chews on his lips. ‘He was running an extremely high fever. Whoever tried to finish my potion didn’t care for making it safe for the object to inject. The host can’t survive more than a day with this shit inside. They either didn’t care about it when they were cooking, or they did it on purpose. Fewer witnesses, after all.’

‘True.’ Seokjin nods slightly, thinking over it. ‘Thank you, Hypnos. I’ll pass the info to Zeus. Even if it’s not of much use.’

He goes to leave the office, but Jiyong stops him before he can open the door.

‘You’re not playing your own game again, are you, Mnemosyne?’

Jin freezes with his hand on the handle, his insides cold.

‘What do you mean—’ he turns around slowly, calculating all the ways this conversation can go in his head. ‘Again?’

‘You know what I mean.’ Jiyong throws his head back and laughs bitterly. He rubs his eyes. ‘You know.’

Seokjin sighs slowly, biding his time.

‘I always play exactly one game, Hypnos,’ he breathes out. ‘And the prize is Zeus’ reign.’

‘Sure.’ Jiyong nods sarcastically and bites his lips. ‘But we wouldn’t be here if it was really so, eh?’

It’s moments like these when Seokjin regrets not having enough power... _then_. Having to trust someone like Hypnos. Asking for help.

‘You know the rules, _Jiyong_.’

‘Yep.’ Jiyong makes a zapping motion near his lips. ‘But the truth will come out sooner or later, you know that. We all do.’

Seokjin chooses not to comment on that, instead composing himself and putting on his signature confident smirk. He hopes his exhausted face doesn’t give him away.

‘Good day, Hypnos.’

Jiyong isn’t ready to let him go, though, not yet. He asks another question, the one that’s been making Jin’s blood boil for about nine years now.

‘Have you found the boy?’

The time stops then, and Jin sees it all before him like it happened yesterday — the piece of paper, the old laughing face, gleeful in his last mockery, the screams.

‘Yes,' he answers, not really knowing why he chooses to tell the truth. Jiyong already knows too much.

‘And what now?’

‘Now,’ he grits his teeth, opening the door. ‘I wait for him to find me.’

VI

_He will not hurt you._

Jimin almost laughs at the voice in his head as he opens the door with shaking hands.

Taehyung’s father looks calm, but Jimin knows better — he spent a lot of his time analyzing the man and trying to figure out the way he thinks so he knows better than not to feel afraid now.

It’s funny. How he wasn’t as scared of Yoongi or Jungkook, the people who murder and rob for a living, but now feels petrified before the man who’s supposed to serve and protect. He thinks about the scar on Taeyong’s neck. Yeah, he’s scared alright. He almost wishes Taeyong wouldn’t hide but dealt with the man himself, but he knows better. They’re in a too delicate of a position now to make their acquaintances with the criminals known. He hopes Taehyung has already finished talking to Jungkook.

‘What are you doing here?’ He asks, proud of his voice for not shaking. He crosses his arms on his chest in a protective gesture, gripping his necklace. It helps him feel calmer.

‘Seeing where my son is living,’ Kim answers, walking inside without waiting for an invitation. Jimin grits his teeth and closes the door behind him, daring a glimpse at the barely cracked door of a wardrobe. Taeyong is looking at him, his fingers to his lips in a ‘keep quiet’ motion. Jimin swallows and closes the wardrobe all the way.

‘How did you find us?’ Jimin asks, following Kim into the living room.

‘I have my ways,’ the man murmurs, looking around. Jimin tries to see the apartment through his eyes and get ready for any question that may come out of Kim’s lips. Why have they moved here? How are they paying for it? Why is it so close to a lot of criminal establishments?

‘Are you taking your meds?’ Kim asks all of a sudden, surprising Jimin as he always does. Jimin grits his teeth.

‘My prescription ended.’ He steps around the couch to face Kim. ‘I don’t have to take them anymore.’

That gets his attention. He looks Jimin up and down, analyzing with a tilt of his head and the squint to his eyes.

‘I doubt it.’

Jimin doesn’t get to answer — Taehyung enters the living room, gripping his phone, a pale look on his face.

‘Get out.’ It’s the first thing he says after a beat of silence. ‘You’re not welcome here.’

‘You’re my son,’ Kim argues, clenching his fists.

‘You don’t have any power over me anymore, not legally,’ Taehyung spits out. He takes a deep breath to calm himself down. ‘I’m twenty-one.’

‘I’m still paying for your education,’ his father observes angrily.

Taehyung scoffs.

‘I’m on a scholarship, you pathetic excuse of a parent,’ he spits out, and Jimin braces himself for what’s to come.

‘How fucking dare you—‘ his father seethes, taking a step towards Taehyung, but Jimin is faster. He stands between them, his hand pressed to Kim’s chest. The man smells like something sour. He reeks of loneliness and anger. Jimin flinches.

‘You’ll touch him over my dead body,’ he warns, and he wishes oh so desperately that Yoongi had already taught him how to fight, how to defend, how to inflict pain. For a second he even longs for the man himself to be here, to protect.

‘What can you do to me, boy?’ Kim breathes out in his face. He’s taller than Jimin, but for some reason, it isn’t intimidating — that same voice in Jimin’s head tells him that his small size can be an advantage in a fight. ‘Huh?’

‘I have my ways,’ Jimin says his own words back at him slowly. ‘Don’t test me.’

He should’ve expected the man to laugh, but he still loses his stance a bit when Kim throws his head back and emits a loud barking sound.

‘You always amused me, Jimin,’ Kim says when he calms down a little. ‘A little lapdog, always sniffing, always looking for ways to gain something. No wonder your father couldn’t handle it.’

It hurts. Probably because it’s the ugly truth, even if it’s a twisted version of it — his father always loved him, always was there, even when he had his own demons to battle. All things considered, he was always a good dad, and he always protected Jimin from himself until he wasn’t strong enough. Until he snapped and gave Jimin the scars on his ribs and the memories that are too foggy to seem real.

‘Inconvenience. Annoying little inconvenience you were for him,’ Kim continues, and Jimin hates his eyes for they start stinging. He endures anyway, stands there, protecting Taehyung from the words his father can come up with, suffering because he’s used to it. If all it takes to keep Tae from going through pain, no matter how little, is to stand his ground and take the bullets — he’ll gladly do it.

‘You’re smart, Jimin, I’ll give you that,’ Kim whispers to his face. Jimin watches a bead of sweat on his neck, unable to bring himself to look the man in the eyes. ‘But you’re the ticking bomb. You were always quite a little sociopath, always lashing out, always obsessing, always longing for those you thought can accept you, huh?’

It doesn’t make any sense. If before his insults were hitting right where it hurt, this now doesn’t sound real. Jimin positively has no idea what he’s talking about, and it gives him the power to look up. Knowing that Kim is grasping at straws now, coming up with some bullshit to rile him up, shows him that he may have an advantage.

‘What?’ He croaks, finally meeting Kim’s gaze. He can hear Taehyung breathing behind him, and he hopes that Kim will waste all of his energy on him so that his son is spared of this.

‘You know what I mean.’ Kim shrugs, and it’s terrifying — how he believes what he’s saying. ‘It’s a pity your father’s case never made it to court. I’d love to go through that little project of yours.’

‘What the fuck are you talking about?’ Jimin spits out, angry now. What project? What case? His father was put away instantly, for his medical history didn’t leave much place for speculations. He just overdosed on his own meds and attacked the first person that triggered him.

Kim laughs again, leaning closer and gripping Jimin’s shoulders.

‘I’m talking about your little obsession with—‘

The loud sound of Jimin’s ringtone interrupts him, making Jimin jump and step away. His phone is on the couch, but he can’t move to get it — he can’t leave his post between Taehyung and the monster. He looks at the screen from where he’s standing, and the name almost makes him laugh in relief. He doesn’t know why Yoongi is calling him, but he’s so happy to remember that he exists that it gives him new strength to broaden his shoulders.

_You’re doing amazing, sunshine._

He recognizes the voice this time. It’s Yoongi. Jimin bites his lip, waiting for the call to go to voicemail before turning to face Kim.

‘You’ve seen our home, you’ve seen us, now you can leave,' he says evenly. ‘I don’t want to listen to any more of your bullshit. Get out.’

‘Listen here, you little shit,’ Kim seethes, looking at Taehyung. ‘I don’t care about your friend, but you are my son, and you have a reputation to uphold. If I hear that you’re skipping college again, or god forbid, hanging around the Underworld, I will drag your ass back home and lock you up, do you understand?’

Jimin feels the anger flare up inside of him, and he pushes the man away so that he hits the kitchen counter with his back.

‘You don’t get to talk to him like that.’

‘Jimin,’ Taehyung warns, his voice calm and collected.

‘No,’ Jimin snaps, looking at him. Taehyung’s face is closed off and cold, and he hates it, he hates when Tae gets like this because it’s not him. Real Taehyung is wide rectangular smiles and dimples, not this resemblance of a Greek statue. ‘I’m tired of this asshole poisoning your life.’

‘He is my son,’ Kim repeats, enunciating every word.

‘Blood doesn’t make family,’ Taehyung says, and this time it’s loud and heated, and he steps closer, pointing his finger at his father. ‘I’d rather fuck the dirtiest criminal in this city than live under your roof again, you dipshit.’

It’s the first time Taehyung snaps at his father like this, and Jimin almost laughs at the irony of this — because Tae is, in fact, sleeping with arguably the dirtiest criminal in this city. Well, after Ares, probably. Jimin has no idea why this thought crosses his mind in such a dire situation, but he’s pretty sure Ares is way more physically dangerous than Jungkook. The image of Yoongi holding a gun is a somewhat distracting one, and so sudden that Jimin doesn’t even realize that Kim is stepping towards Taehyung before it’s too late.

He acts on instinct. The leap he takes to put himself before Taehyung seems like an impossible one, but before he knows it, the blow meant for Taehyung strikes Jimin across the cheek, sending his head flying sideways with a loud cracking sound. Kim obviously didn’t hold back — Jimin’s head explodes with pain, and he grits his teeth not to scream out. There’s a growling sound in his head coming from the voice he’s been hearing, and he feels the ancient rage inside of him, so powerful that he feels some kind of power coursing through his body, firing up his veins and cracking on his fingertips.

Kim suddenly steps back like he was pushed even though Jimin didn’t move a finger. There’s a flash of fear in his eyes, but it’s gone too soon for someone to notice. Jimin’s eyes water from pain and he feels Taehyung’s hands wrap around him, holding him. Holding him back, Jimin realizes, for he’s apparently trying to fight back, his fist clenched and his mouth opened in a silent scream of rage.

‘What the fuck!’ Taehyung exclaims, looking at his father like he’s never seen him before, and Jimin thinks that something terrible is about to happen, something that will alter their lives forever, and he feels it like electricity in the air, and he braces himself.

It never comes. There are footsteps behind Kim, and for a split second, there’s a new fear in Jimin’s mind — that Taeyong got out of hiding and is now on his way to do something that will mess up all their plans and secrets.

But the person stepping into the living room isn’t Taeyong. It’s not even someone Jimin knows. The man, or rather the boy, is dressed in casual clothing with a uniform cap with some local pizza place logo on it, and he’s holding a large box. There’s a soft smile on his face, but Jimin feels anger and contempt radiating from him. He wonders if someone else feels it too, or if it’s his empathic tendencies acting up again.

‘Someone ordered a pizza?’ The boy exclaims happily, seemingly unaware of a tense mood of the room. ‘The door was open, I let myself in.’

No, it was not, Jimin remembers closing it, and they never ordered anything, but he’s not going to question their unusual savior now. He looks at Kim, who’s frozen, dumbstruck.

‘Is everything okay here?’ The delivery guy chuckles, gesturing between them. His face, now that Jimin thinks about it, seems familiar, but he can’t quite place it.

‘Splendid,’ Kim croaks and steps away. He looks Jimin in the eye, and it’s obvious that this has reached beyond a simple parental conflict. There is something Kim hates about Jimin in particular, and Jimin is somehow thrilled to know that his attention isn’t on his son now. He’ll take everything as long as this asshole doesn’t bother Tae. ‘We’re not done here.’

He leaves without another word, and as soon as the door closes after him, there’s a loud bang of Taeyong opening the wardrobe door and storming into the living room.

‘That fucking asshole, I swear I will skin him myself,’ he seethes as he runs up to Jimin to examine his face. ‘Are you nauseous? Does your head ring? I swear, if he gives you a concussion, I will let the dogs eat him.’

Now that the threat is gone, Jimin feels that sudden power subside as the adrenaline leaves his body. He slumps down on the couch, rubbing his sore cheek.

‘I’m sorry I got here too late,’ the delivery boy winces, sitting down near him and offering him a pack of ice he procured from somewhere. ‘Your lock is tough to pick. It’s not weird, considering Ares has installed it, but still.’

‘You still made him go away, Hyungwon, you’re good.’ Taeyong pats the boy’s shoulder and hugs Taehyung close. ‘I’m sorry, Tae-Tae.’

‘It’s okay,’ Taehyung says and crouches before Jimin, tears in his eyes. ‘You’re an idiot.’

‘It was an instinct.’ Jimin shrugs.

_I will murder him, I swear to gods._

He winces at the intensity of his newfound inner voice.

Taehyung turns to the delivery boy and raises his eyebrows.

‘And you are?’

‘I’m Hyungwon.' The boy perks up, offering his hand. ‘Also known as Crius, part of the Monsta gang. I’m keeping an eye on the apartment from outside. I knew something was up when I saw Kim go in, so I followed him inside.’

‘Keeping an—‘ Jimin sputters. He looks at Taeyong. ‘You knew there’s another guard?’

‘Of course I did,’ Taeyong sighs. ‘Yoongi asked me not to tell you two. You’re already pissed someone is babysitting you.’

The mention of Yoongi makes Jimin remember something. He grabs his phone and looks at the notifications. There’s a voicemail from Yoongi, and he feels sudden exhilaration. To hear his voice now would remind him that he’s not going to be weak and defenseless any longer. He grips the device and takes a deep breath.

‘It’s okay,’ he sighs. ‘Apparently, we really need more protection, just not from those who you thought.’

Taehyung jumps up suddenly, enveloping Jimin in a hug, and they fall on the couch, all limbs and clothes.

‘Chim, I’m so fucking sorry, you didn’t deserve it, you shouldn’t have defended me,’ he whispers frantically, and Jimin grips him tighter to stop from crying.

‘Neither did you,’ he whispers back. ‘And I swear to you, I will always defend you, no matter the cost, you hear me?’

He means it. He means every word and letter, and now he knows it’s not just words, it’s not just a promise to stick around to wait and see how this whole criminal ordeal turns out. No. He’s positive now that he will stay by Taehyung’s side through everything. To protect.

_That’s not the entire truth, is it?_

He closes his eyes. One more thing he has left to admit to himself. One more thought that keeps swirling in his mind. One more memory of something Kim had said.

_You were always quite a little sociopath, always lashing out, always obsessing, always longing for those you thought can accept you, huh?_

He has to admit it. He has to face it. For he can’t deny that as he was struck, as he felt the fire burn through his veins, as he was preparing to fight back, it was the most alive he’s ever felt, and something dark yet familiar inside his soul longs to feel like that again.

He breathes in Taehyung’s smell.

One thing at a time.

VI

By the time Johnny goes in for his shift at the apartment and Taeyong gets to the Underworld, it’s already night. He contemplates checking on Yoongi and telling him about what happened — because it’s better for him to break the news and deal with the inevitable explosion of Yoongi’s anger than for Ares to learn everything from Jimin. He knows Yoongi, and he knows the look in his eyes whenever they talk about Jimin, and he knows that Kim is a dead man walking. They can’t kill him off, not yet, so Taeyong will have to discuss it with Jungkook, which is also not the most pleasant perspective, seeing as the blow that Jimin got was meant for Taehyung.

Taeyong rubs his face as the elevator takes him to the floor where the apartments of the inner circle are located. He pauses before Yoongi’s door but thinks better of it. Let him rest. He has enough on his shoulders already.

His rooms are next to Yoongi’s, and he goes inside, noting the open doors. He thought that Ten had an assignment, but apparently he dealt with it faster than anticipated, and Taeyong feels a smile tugging at his lips. They talked on the phone an hour ago, but he already misses him with such a strong pull in his chest that it feels hard to breathe. Sometimes it feels like he wasn’t truly living before Ten — just waiting.

He’s met with the smell of citrus and soft candle glow. Ten is on the bed, looking at his phone, sprawled like a big marshmallow. His eyes look tired, and Taeyong clicks his tongue.

‘You didn’t wait up for me, did you?’ He asks as he comes closer and leans over the bed, giving Ten’s hair a soft kiss.

‘I can’t sleep without you,’ Ten murmurs and turns around to take Taeyong’s hand and make him lie down on top of him. ‘Hi.’

Taeyong smiles and kisses him on the lips now, feeling the soft outlines of his body with his fingers. It’s home.

‘Hello,’ he whispers back as he pulls away. ‘I’m happy you had your little catharsis today.’

‘Yeah, me too.’ Ten’s voice is raspy and deep, and it makes heat pool up in Taeyong’s stomach. He swallows and wills it away, reminding himself that it’s not the time and he’s not an asshole.

They’ve been together for almost two years now. Two gorgeous years, filled with happiness and love Taeyong has never felt before. They’ve gone through it all — pain and joy, fights and kisses; they’ve had their firsts all at their own time except for one. Because you see, growing up in a brothel where your body is treated as currency and ordered around against your will and consent can sometimes give you an intimacy issue so great that you get close to having a panic attack when it comes to getting close with someone you love and desire.

Taeyong has always been okay with it. In his opinion, sex is amazing and a great part of a relationship, but it’s not everything. Being with Ten is rewarding without them being intimate, and he’s never complained. He would never pressure Ten into something he wasn’t comfortable with, and it could get hard sometimes to resist him — because yes, hello, his boyfriend is the hottest piece in this city, especially when he’s training and fighting, — but it was worth it. And well, cold showers existed for a reason.

So now, when he feels the arousal inside of him, he goes to pull away and calm himself down. It’s hard, seeing as he’s lying on top of Ten, pressed against him in all the needed places.

‘Wait,’ Ten whispers, his fingers getting under Taeyong t-shirt. ‘Just— let me see something.’

Taeyong stills, afraid to do something wrong. So he just lies there, careful in his movements as Ten’s hands explore his body, slowly undressing him to feel more of his skin. It’s exhilarating, and Taeyong closes his eyes, reveling in the feel of his lover’s fingers on him.

‘I love you, angel.’ Ten breathes out, and Taeyong holds back a whimper. ‘You saved me in so many ways. Without you, even if I have survived, I’d be an empty vessel, broken and destroyed. You gave me purpose. Your love gave me my breath. You gave me my soul back.’

It’s not the first time Ten says this, but it seems so much more important now, and Taeyong feels like crying. They’ve both saved each other.

‘I was meant to find you, just as you were meant to find me,’ he responds, opening his eyes and meeting Ten’s gaze. ‘And you will always have all of me.’

It seems like a dream from that point on. Ten kissing him like it’s their last night on earth. Taking off his clothes to feel his skin closer, deeper, more. Their entire lives are a rollercoaster where they don’t have their safety belts on, yet in this moment Taeyong feels simultaneously grounded and elevated. Ten’s touch is his salvation and his wings — and he flows. They get lost together in each other, and it’s the most beautiful moment in his life. Finally touching, finally together, finally feeling like one.

‘Don’t ever let me go,’ Taeyong whispers frantically at some point, his nails digging into Ten’s back, his fingers curling from pleasure and overpowering, immense feeling of love. Ten leaves a trail of kisses down his throat, biting and marking, and Taeyong allows him, he wants everyone to know that he belongs to the man in his arms, forever and always. Through lifetimes and universes. In every possible form.

‘Never, angel,’ comes the hoarse response, and it’s enough for him. It will always be enough for him.

↹

Aphrodite enters the throne room with a grand impression of a beautiful harpy on its path to revenge. Zeus sighs. He really should choose another place to spend his time at, since he keeps attracting angry gods and goddesses to come and scream at him. He barely managed to send Demeter away, and now he has to deal with Aphrodite? Splendid.

‘Before you say anything.’ He raises his hand and sighs. ‘I apologize for my response to the issue with Hephaestus.’

 _‘Issue_?’ Aphrodite positively screeches, and Zeus sighs again, realizing that he has chosen a bad approach. ‘He attacked us. Imprisoned. Humiliated.’

‘I didn’t know you have any shame,’ Zeus drawls out, stroking his throne with his fingers. Aphrodite is hovering above him, angry yet still maintaining the distance. Good. ‘What do you want from me, oh beautiful? You know I was forced to bless your marriage.’

‘I am aware of that, yes,’ Aphrodite says slowly as if he’s gathering his strength. ‘Yet I am no longer content with just sitting back and letting everyone around me command my life.’

‘Because you’ve found Ares?’

‘Because I’ve found love.’ His voice softens, and Zeus doesn’t think Aphrodite realizes it. It makes him feel almost nostalgic. Ah, but he is so young. ‘All the years of granting it to mortals, and I’ve never realized it could be so liberating, so powerful, so beautiful — to love. And I do not wish to hide it anymore.’

Zeus takes a deep breath and goes over what he wants to say in his head. Aphrodite is young, but he is powerful beyond comprehension. He should take great care as to tread lightly.

‘Hephaestus no longer has the advantage,’ he starts, weighing his words. ‘So I am no longer imprisoned into my promise to make you marry him. I will release you from this arrangement.’

Aphrodite takes a step back, aghast at such an easy resolution. Zeus sees the suspicion in young god’s eyes — the Allfather never grants such easy favors. There is something hidden, so Aphrodite stays silent, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

‘I have, however, something to ask of you in return.’ He doesn’t make Aphrodite wait for long. What he’s about to say makes him feel like there is something rotting inside of him, yet he has no other choice. ‘You know, of course, of certain— ties I have to certain gods.’

He sees Aphrodite’s eyes focus on something invisible on Zeus’ chest. The red strings of heart, Aphrodite once called them. Only the god of love sees them, and only he can manipulate them.

‘I do.’ Aphrodite nods, a distressed look to his features. ‘I intended, in all truth, to use those ties against you.’

Zeus chuckles. He’s not surprised. The gods on Olympus aren’t exactly original. They all have something against each other, always biding their time and waiting for an opportunity to strike. That’s how they survive. That’s how Zeus became the god over them all.

‘I don’t doubt it.’ He nods and takes another deep breath. ‘And now I need you to do exactly that.’

Aphrodite looks into his eyes, his golden locks framing his graceful face. His gaze hardens as he realizes that his freedom is near, and he stands straight, hands clenched into little fists at his sides.

‘I am listening.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi! hope y'all are enjoying this rollercoaster uwu. just here to show you [this amazing freaking art by xenia](https://twitter.com/meowyoongles/status/1029796024330665985). I'm literally so soft for this like!! you're an incredible little buba, and I love the heck out of you and your work.
> 
> and as always, come yell at me on [twitter ](https://twitter.com/romulusadhara)  
> [come yell at me as anon](https://curiouscat.me/romulusadhara). let's be trash together!


	7. VII. oenomel.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'do you believe in magic?'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [chapter moodboard](https://twitter.com/romulusadhara/status/1063187003951456256%20rel=)

_you keep on asking why you’re still defied._

_I’m hanging on to see if we collide._

_and we don’t need to know the place or time_

_as long as I am yours and you are mine._

 

 _there’s no hide and seek_ _—_ _I see you see me_

 _what’s the mystery? give it up_ _—_ _let go._

↹

When Mnemosyne enters his chambers, the only source of light is Zeus’ hands. There’s a tiny lightning there, clutched between his palms as he’s sitting on the bed, his black robes around him in a cloud of darkness. This is strange. Zeus rarely wears black.

Mnemosyne comes up to him, sitting down on the floor and putting his chin on his love’s knees. He watches, mesmerized, as the tiny bolt leaves Zeus’ hands and goes to hide between his robes. Zeus reaches out, putting his palm through Mnemosyne’s hair, and it feels like grief.

‘What is wrong, my love?’ Mnemosyne asks quietly, his heart suddenly trembling in fright.

‘You are the only affair I do not want to hide,’ Zeus confesses, his voice grave.

It’s not a gentle reminder — about his affairs, but the soft words soothe the pain. Mnemosyne turns his face and kisses his palm.

‘Then don’t,’ he says, knowing that it is pointless. Yet he will never stop trying.

Zeus stands up to sit on the floor beside him, intertwining their fingers and breathing in their smell softly. His eyes flutter, and there is sorrow in them.

‘I will never forget you.’

It’s said with such a note of finality that Mnemosyne feels panic. It cannot be.

‘I’m the god of memory.’ He tries to chuckle, but his throat is dry. ‘You will not be able to.’

Zeus opens his eyes and looks at him directly, and Mnemosyne, just like once he saw his destiny, sees his undoing.

‘Aphrodite came today,’ he starts quietly. ‘I made a deal with him.’

‘What deal?’ Mnemosyne tilts his head, hoping that this was just a fluke, and now they will go back to their usual routine — talking and making love.

‘To get him out of the marriage with Hephaestus.’ His lips are pressed, grim.

‘That is kind of you.’ Mnemosyne smiles softly and leans forward to leave a kiss on his lips. Zeus doesn’t pull back, leaning into the kiss and sighing softly.

‘I asked him for a favor in return,’ he whispers against his lips. ‘To help with someone.’

Mnemosyne frowns and pulls back, uneasy.

‘Are you meddling again?’ He tilts his head, brows furrowed in judgment. ‘I love you, my petal, but playing with other’s lives will one day come back to cause you great sorrow.’

Zeus breathes out in frustration yet Mnemosyne can’t find it in himself to regret his words. They’ve had this talk dozens of times before, and it always annoys Zeus, but Mnemosyne did not raise nine gods of beauty and inspiration to stay silent about something so appalling to him. He loves Zeus yet it does not mean he can close his eyes on his actions.

‘You always say that.’ Zeus chuckles gravely and tilts his head. ‘I will never change. And you won’t, either.’

Mnemosyne swallows, feeling something come over his mind. Pink fog enveloping his head and making him dizzy.

‘Something is happening to me,’ he murmurs, clutching Zeus’ palms.

‘He’s fast.’

Mnemosyne looks up, confused and hurt, yet Zeus does nothing but sit still, looking sorrowfully at his lover’s face. Mnemosyne tries to stand up yet his legs feel weak and his body feels as if it is floating yet he stays on the ground.

‘I will never forget you,’ Zeus whispers again, bringing him close and putting his lips to his temple. ‘But you will soon.’

The fog becomes stronger, reaching into the very essence of his being — his memory. It doesn’t touch anything but one of his most treasured memories, though. He watches, mesmerized, as the fog stains the silver images of Zeus in his mind, his love and devotion, his touch and his lips, his power and strength. He tries to breathe and fight, but his chest is constricted, his frame supported only by the lover he is now slowly forgetting.

‘I’m sorry, my love, but it had to be done.’ Zeus is crying, and he would marvel at that if he wasn’t fighting with everything he has for the memory of his greatest love.

All he sees now is the pink darkness, and all he hears is the clipping sounds of someone cutting the thread connecting him to Zeus, and as he is slowly losing consciousness, he turns around and sees a frightened tear-streaked face, regretful yet determined.

His last thought before he passes out is clear and bright, and so loud He definitely hears it.

_You will pay for this, Aphrodite._

 

VII

_‘You matter, you know?...You matter so fucking much, Jiminie. I know you hate my nicknames, but I’m sorry if you affect me so much that I— Why do you hate them, though?...Are you affected as much? I wish I could see inside your mind... I wish. I wish for so many things about you. I’m sorry I do. I promise I’ll fix it. Just— just let me. Let me fix it. And never forget that you’re more beautiful and important than anyone in this fucking city. You just— You matter._

The line clicks off, and Jimin closes his eyes.

In the past three weeks, he’s listened to this message for about thirty times. He can’t bring himself to delete it and he even recorded it and saved to prevent accidentally losing it. He doesn’t know why. He’s afraid of trying to explain it to himself.

Maybe... Maybe it’s because he hasn’t seen Yoongi since he left promising to see him at college on Monday and never appeared. Jimin feels guilty because something tells him it’s the incident with Kim that’s at fault. He feels even more grim when he thinks about how their trip to the Underworld had to be postponed. This one isn’t on him — Kim finding their apartment shows that he has a lot more intel than they’d like, so it’s too dangerous to show that Taehyung is a welcomed guest at the Hades’ headquarters. Tae isn’t taking this well — he’s skipping uni, being moody, and just generally gives off a “fuck off” vibe. He doesn’t snap at Jimin, though, and he’s grateful, but every time their guard shows up and it’s not Yoongi, he goes to his room and rarely shows himself. Jimin hates it.

He also hates the fact that he, just like Tae, feels disappointment when Yoongi fails to walk through their door. Jimin may be stubborn so he’ll never say this out loud, but he’s not stupid so he admits it to himself — he misses Ares.

They’ve barely spent a few hours together, and a big part of those Jimin was asking Yoongi to leave him alone, but... It’s strange. It seems like in such a short span of time Yoongi has become a stable attachment to his life. It’s unsettling yet not at all unpleasant.

And they’ve talked — a lot. Yoongi called him the next day after the incident, just as Jimin was applying concealer to not have to explain the huge bruise to Tony. Neither of them mentioned the voice message. Jimin — because he still wasn’t sure how to react. Yoongi — hell knows why.

_’How are you?’ His gruff voice makes Jimin exhale. After hearing it inside his head it seemed surreal somehow — like he imagined him altogether. But no, he was there, sounding like he just woke up. ‘Taeyong told me everything.’_

_Not just woke up, then, but Jimin still swallows at the sudden image of Yoongi’s bedhead._

_‘It hurts,’ he says honestly. ‘But it’s okay. I’ve had worse.’_

_‘I wish I was there.’ There’s anger in Yoongi’s voice, and something about it rings familiar — Jimin felt it inside himself just yesterday._

_‘And what?’ Jimin scoffs. ‘You would blow the whole thing, kill Kim, and hope for the best?’_

_‘I’d at least...’ He starts but cuts himself off. ‘Whatever.’_

_‘I’m honestly fine, Yoongi.’ He sighs. ‘Have you gotten around to figuring out how Kim found us?’_

_‘The first thing on my schedule.’ There’s scuffle on the other end and Jimin imagines Yoongi throwing a hand over his eyes._

_‘Am I gonna see you today?’ Jimin asks all of a sudden before he can stop himself. There’s some fear he feels — something he can’t explain. Like Yoongi will not want to see him damaged and bruised. Like he will see his face and realize that he’s just the same on the inside — beaten and defeated._

_‘You should treat that bruise,’ Yoongi says instead of answering. ‘Be safe, Jimin.’_

He hung up after that, and Jimin waited the entire day to see him and ask what that was about just to walk out of the Psychology building and meet his newest guard — Johnny. They’ve met the night before when he took over Taeyong, and they pretty much hit it off. Johnny didn’t answer him when he asked about Yoongi, just asked him to get in the car.

Yoongi didn’t show up at night. Or in the morning. It was like he deliberately avoided seeing Jimin and caught up for it with hearing him.

It’s been three weeks, Jimin has listened to his message thirty times, and he talked to the man himself even more often. It became like a ritual to him — whenever he got a free minute, he would talk to Yoongi, either through text or by call. They’ve talked about hundreds of different things — from Jimin’s boring lectures to the job Yoongi was doing that day. He’s telling him everything — about people he meets, weapons he uses, talks he has. One time, he even sent him a video message when he was too tired to type, and Jimin’s been rewatching it every day.

And they fit. At first it felt like Jimin could strangle Yoongi just for talking to him, but now he’s awaiting him eagerly. He tries to explain it rationally. They barely know each other, and it’s always refreshing to meet someone like that and have the ability to talk to them about everything and anything. There’s nothing more between them than a casual... Jimin would even go as far as to call it friendship, but it’s easier than that. He’s not Taehyung, who’s known Jimin from kindergarten and anticipates his words before Jimin can even speak them. He’s not Tony, who seems to be always doting on him and making sure he’s okay, which isn’t bad, per se, but can get annoying. He’s just— Yoongi. Annoyingly smart and infuriatingly interested. Even now, Jimin looks at their text chain hoping for the bubbles to appear before he has to send something himself. They’ve talked half an hour ago, but he’s already craving more.

He’s becoming scared of it because he talks to Yoongi more often than to Tony, and honestly, that should be worrying, but Yoongi’s curt responses and lame jokes are becoming more joyful parts of his days than meeting with his own boyfriend.

It’s not altogether Jimin’s fault, though — Tony is weird lately. He’s not exactly avoiding Jimin but he isn’t actively seeking him out either. It used to be easy to find him because he always seemed to be nearby when Jimin texted him but now he’s busy often, and when he’s not, he looks like he would prefer being somewhere else. Jimin tried to fight that for a week, but as his bond with Yoongi grew, Tony seemed to drift farther away. Jimin hates it. He hates that he’s so okay with it. He hates that he doesn’t spend hours thinking how he can fix it. Yes, their relationship isn’t perfect, but Jimin hates giving up so he’ll be damned if he lets it all go to waste without trying.

And that’s why he dials Tony, not Yoongi.

Tony’s phone is off. That is literally the first time. Jimin stares at his screen for a solid minute, trying to process this. Should he be worried? The city is pretty dangerous at night. Well, it’s extremely dangerous all the time, but the night adds the necessary cover and excitement to the deals of criminals. Jimin knows it, Yoongi told him. He breathes out in frustration and sends a message instead.

 

**_Are you okay? Call me when you can. xx_ **

 

He adds little kisses after about a minute of pondering over them and ends up typing them exactly because of that.

Before he can decide whether he should get in touch with some of Tony’s friends, his phone chimes with a notification, and he can’t help a smile starting on his lips as he reads Yoongi’s message.

 

_Guess who just fell into a champagne fountain at the Blackpink? the fucking mayor._

 

**lemme guess, you pushed him**

 

_who do you take me for?_

_I tripped him_

Jimin laughs loudly, falling on the bed and burying his face in the pillow. He doesn’t want anyone to hear him — Taehyung from the next room and Johnny from the living room — so he muffles the sound. It’s ridiculous. He can’t find it in himself to care.

Before he can calm down enough to send a response, his phone starts ringing, and he chuckles, seeing Yoongi’s name.

‘You could’ve at least given me a minute to reply,’ he breathes out, picking up.

‘Missed your gorgeous voice, sorry.’ There’s the sound of chatter in the background, and some classical music provides an interesting background for Yoongi’s low voice.

‘Careful, or I’ll think you’re flirting.’ Jimin raises his eyebrows and immediately slaps himself on the forehead. Why did he have to say that?

There’s silence, and then — a breath.

‘How could I ever?’ He can hear Yoongi swallowing. ‘You’re taken.’

‘Yeah,’ Jimin replies dumbly, closing his eyes.

He’s not an idiot. He sees it. He feels it. In Yoongi and in himself. It’s not like Yoongi is being subtle, and it’s not because he’s obnoxious or overconfident — he’s just honest. And he says what he sees, and he sees Jimin. Or does he? Does he see Jimin, or is he searching for something else inside his mind? This thought and the uncertainty of it all confuse Jimin, and it hurts. Sometimes so badly that he has to physically restrain himself from replying to Yoongi’s messages. He can’t keep off the thoughts — the memories and the realization that it took him barely a month to feel like he could dump his boyfriend just to be near someone. He won’t, though, because he is _simply not that kind of person._

It’s still weird — how it turned around so quickly, and how the thought of hating Yoongi, the one that was so intimately familiar to him a month ago, is now revolting and laughable. He likes Yoongi, he can admit it. In what capacity, though? That’s another question for another day.

‘You promised me a lesson.’ He makes himself say when they’re quiet for almost a minute. ‘And my dagger is with you.’

‘I’ll try to come by tomorrow,’ comes a familiar response. Jimin grits his teeth.

‘You’ve been saying that every day for the past three weeks.’

‘Jiminie, it’s dangerous.’ Yoongi sighs. It’s the first time they’re arguing about it, but it feels like Yoongi has already played this conversation in his mind dozens of time.

‘Don’t ‘Jiminie’ me,’ Jimin snaps. ‘If it’s not dangerous for Johnny, Wooseok, or Jinho, then it’s definitely okay for you to come.’

‘Oh for fuck’s—’ He cuts off, and Jimin hears him going somewhere more private. ‘It’s dangerous for _you_. If someone is watching the apartment, it’s definitely someone who knows my face. And Taeyong’s. Or you didn’t even notice that he’s not coming around anymore?’

Jimin keeps silent. He didn’t. His mind was so focused on the fact that Yoongi isn’t there that he didn’t even think about the people who were. He sighs. Wow. He’s really dumb.

‘I—’ He wants to say that he misses him, but he doesn’t because it just doesn’t sound right. The thing he feels isn’t longing, it’s isn’t the desire to see a friend, no — it’s something uglier. The wish to feel that same adrenaline and a swirl of emotions that Yoongi brings out of him. That what's associated with Yoongi brings out of him.

It’s wrong and unfair, but he feels like a junkie — simple stories about what Yoongi and his gang do aren’t enough anymore; he craves smelling magnolias and blood again, craves feeling like he belongs to something far greater and more dangerous than his own calm world.

He swallows.

_You were always quite a little sociopath._

‘You’re breaking your promise, then,’ he grits out pettily, regretting it even before it leaves his mouth. He feels like a whiny child.

‘Don’t do this.’ Yoongi sighs. ‘Please.’

‘What?’ He knows what he’s doing yet he still carries on.

‘Fucking guilt-tripping me into risking your life. Risking everything.’

‘It’s just a simple visit.’ Jimin pouts even though Yoongi can’t see him. ‘You volunteered to be a primary guard, remember?’

‘You’re not my everything, Jimin,’ Yoongi spits out. Jimin frowns. He didn’t mean it like that. ‘If you’re forgetting, there’s also my boss’s boyfriend in that apartment. I can’t compromise him just because you’re lonely.’

‘I’m not lonely,’ Jimin contradicts, but there’s something truthful about that. ‘I just—’

He stays silent. It’s so confusing, and the mess in his head is swirling and grinding, not allowing him to think clearly.

‘Just what?’ Yoongi sighs. ‘Listen... I like to think that we’ve become somewhat familiar. Friends, maybe, if you try to label us with something people use in usual situations.’

‘I guess so.’ Jimin swallows. ‘I’ve definitely changed the way I see you.’

‘So did I.’ But did he, really? ‘So I want us to be honest with each other.’

It’s a complicated thought. Jimin keeps a lot of things from him — and not just because they’re not as close; he’s afraid. Afraid that Yoongi will think less of him. It’s a strange feeling because Jimin never particularly cared what people think of him. Yet he’s scared that if he’s honest with Yoongi, it will cross that invisible line that Jimin is still trying to grasp with his fingertips — the line that separates his life with Tony and his simple Psychology major and his quiet existence, and Yoongi and danger that appeals him way too much for his liking.

‘And so,’ Yoongi continues. ‘I want you to answer truthfully.’

‘To what?’ Jimin wonders weakly, picking at his blanket.

‘Why do you really want to see me so bad?’

He takes a deep breath and closes his eyes. Honesty, huh.

‘I don’t want to feel helpless.’ He says it quickly and in one breath before he can change his mind. ‘And you make me feel powerful. You remind me that, no matter how much I’m denying it, evil and crime still exist. I don’t mean you — I mean people who can try and truly hurt me and Taehyung. I need to know how to fight, Yoongi. I need to see that Ares exists, and that I can be like him.’

Yoongi is quiet for a long time, and at some point Jimin even glances at the screen to check if the call is still going. Finally, there’s a deep sigh.

‘You used to hate it all and me so much.’

‘Things changed. I changed.’

‘Did you, really?’

Jimin purses his lips and closes his eyes.

‘It doesn’t have to be you.’ No, it does. ‘You can ask someone else.’ He’d rather he doesn’t.

There’s another long pause, and he can hear Yoongi mutter something, but it’s too indistinguishable.

‘Stay safe, Jimin.’ He hangs up.

Jimin looks at his phone as if it offended him. He fucking hanged up on him. What the—

He doesn’t even have time to freak out properly. There’s a notification and he opens the text eagerly.

**don’t be late to class tomorrow**

**make sure taehyung attends too**

He glares at his phone. So he’s just gonna continue acting like everything is peachy? Amazing.

He doesn’t bother replying. Yoongi can honestly go and get himself killed, for all he cares.

VII

It would be a major understatement to say that Jimin is in a bad mood on Friday morning. He physically drags Taehyung out of his bed, and not because he’s an asshole but because twenty minutes of gentle whispers and soft touches didn’t do him any good.

He’s watching Tae like a hawk as he leaves the shower and eats his breakfast. He even made him his favorite tofu salad to make up for the rude awakening.

‘What’s even the fucking point,’ Taehyung mumbles into his plate, and Jimin closes his eyes and sighs. He didn’t get much sleep last night, and he’s grumpy enough to blame Yoongi for ghosting him. It started getting easier — to fall asleep with Ares on the line, his voice telling bullshit stories and random stuff that happened to him that day. They don’t talk about it, and Yoongi never mentions for how long he stays on the phone after Jimin falls asleep. Last night, he didn’t call, and Tony still hasn’t replied, so yeah. Jimin’s night was filled with darkness and chasing after something only to discover that he’s chasing himself, trying to catch and capture. He woke up in cold sweat just as he grabbed his own t-shirt. It was four am, and he lied awake until his alarm went off.

‘The point is to uphold the image,’ he grits out. ‘I know you’re not planning to do anything with your degree, but you only have a year left. Might as well take it all.’

Taehyung sighs and looks up. There are circles under his eyes, and that same haunting look Jimin hates so much.

‘I just wish I could—’ he breaks off, his throat constricting, and Jimin reaches for his arm, squeezing it with his palm.

‘I know, love.’

Johnny comes in from the balcony and looks at them, wary. Taehyung has been snappy lately, and Janus isn’t the most socially adept person to try and challenge that.

‘I’m ready whenever you are.’ He smiles weakly.

‘We are,’ Taehyung calls out and stands up, putting their plates away. He turns to the guy and smiles gently as if apologizing for his behavior.

Johnny lets out a breath and nods a little. Jimin grabs their bags and moves to the exit.

Hyungwon is at his position on a bench across the street, and Jimin nods subtly. They’re not supposed to interact, but Jimin is still grateful to him for helping them out three weeks ago.

‘Is there anything suspicious?’ Taehyung wonders quietly as they move along the busy street.

‘Not more so than usual,’ Johnny replies, his hands in his pockets. He’s towering over them like an oak tree, but Jimin got used to it already.

Yoongi is the same height as him. He doesn’t have to get used to anything with him. Well, apart from liking his personality, apparently.

His text notification goes off, and he looks at his phone, swallowing. Hoping.

It’s Tony. Jimin hates how disappointed he feels.

_I’m fine, sorry, the phone died when I got home last night and I forgot to charge it. how are you?_

Jimin feels a smile tagging at his lips. He’s happy Tony is okay. And it’s nice to feel something genuine toward him for once.

**omw to uni. you’re gonna be in today?**

_don’t think so, no. dad needs my help at the hospital._

**are you sure it’s okay for you to skip so much? I’ve barely seen you in the past month.**

They walk for another ten minutes, exchanging quiet words, before Jimin glares at his phone for what must be the hundredth time, and finally gets a response.

_I’ve got it covered, dw._

**okay.**

He bites his lips and sends another one.

**I miss you xx**

He doesn’t get a response to that.

VII

Jimin uses his lunch hour to sneak away to the library. Taehyung is catching up with some of his uni friends, and Jimin likes it — it wouldn’t be wise, or beneficial, to cut all the ties. He hopes desperately that holding on to the people from the regular world will hold Tae back from being completely consumed by the gang.

He needs to work on his history project, anyway. He doesn’t need the credit that bad, but he was always rather interested in the way the things came to be and who played what role in the events that shaped the world that Jimin now knows. He joined the class too late because of the whole ‘stabbed and forced to spend a month in the hospital’ thing, so the only topic left was the history of the city they were living in. For some reason, nobody wanted to take it because there wasn’t a lot of sources to help, yet Jimin has always been a good researcher. He decided that he’d make do and took the topic.

With all the classes and the Underworld business, he didn’t really have the time in the past month to work on the project. But now, when his latest obsession is ghosting him, and his own boyfriend won’t reply to his texts, he decides to actually do some work. There’s a sneaking thought in his mind that Yoongi would surely know a lot about the city’s past, since he grew up on the streets and knows basically every semi-important person here, but. But. Jimin is too proud of a bitch to text first, so now he’s here, at the computer that contains all the newspaper clippings that ever came out on both sides of the river. He inhales softly and notes down the thought — put in the chapter about the ways two towns influenced each other, since they always diversified the city because of the river separating them.

He spends about forty minutes there, clicking and typing, printing out the parts he needs, but he hits a block when he decides to leave in five minutes.

The latest article he’s found is dated as April 15th 1987. Before that — nothing. He tries scrolling stubbornly, and even opens the entire library at once, almost making the computer freeze, but there is not a thing indicating that something existed before that date. It’s impossible. Of course, there’s a possibility that the first newspaper was founded then, even if it seems extremely implausible, but even so — there would be books, records, archives, hospital bills, anything. Yet, all he sees is a blank screen. He feels frustration and curiosity, and that just won’t do. He looks up from where he was consumed in his work to look at the reception, yet the librarian is nowhere to be seen. He sighs, annoyed, and stands up, gathering his things. There’s quite a lot of printouts, yet the fact that he knows there should be more makes him almost angry. He pushes everything in his bag and goes deeper into the library, looking for anything published here before 1987.

He doesn’t even make it to the archives because the fate finally smiles at him. Near the mythology section, there is a man in a neat shirt and with a badge.

‘Thank fuck!’ Jimin gasps, making the man look at him incredulously, which confirms his suspicion that this is, in fact, the librarian.

‘I’m sorry,’ he says more quietly. ‘I just got excited. I was looking for you, actually.’

‘Well, you have found me, young man,’ the librarian says, his lips pursed in annoyance. ‘Are you checking something out?’

‘Maybe.’ Jimin grips the strap of his bag and goes closer, noting how the man looks young, yet his eyes radiate knowledge and wisdom. Peculiar. He doesn’t feel the man, at all, and while it isn’t new, it still makes Jimin frown. ‘I wanted to ask you something. About the archives in the computer? Are they complete?’

‘Of course.’ The man nods and fixes his glasses. ‘I’m curating them myself, and we update them every week.’

‘That’s weird.’ Jimin rubs his lips.

‘It is not,’ the man contradicts. ‘Updating them once a month would be unproductive.’

‘No, not that,’ Jimin chuckles, noticing the man smiling softly himself. No grudges, then. Awesome. ‘I’m doing a project on the history of the city, and, strangely enough, I can’t find anything before the April of 1987.’

‘Ah,’ the man exhales and rubs his chin. ‘I doubt you will be able to.’

‘Why so?’ Jimin swallows. He somehow always thought that the city is old. Definitely older than thirty-something years.

‘Nobody knows with certainty how old the city is,’ the librarian says as if knowing exactly what Jimin is thinking about. ‘There are some records in neighborhood cities about certain trades and travels, but they’re too vague to conclude with certainty they’re talking about this city.’

‘But why?’ Jimin asks again, feeling like he’s missing something.

‘You’re probably too young to remember this, but there was a great fire around that time. In 1985, I think,’ the man explains, a faraway look in his eyes as if he’s remembering everything from how he saw it. ‘The entire city went aflame. Everything disappeared. All the records were lost. We have no way to know what happened, or how it was back then. You could touch on this in your project. It would make a fascinating chapter.’

Jimin swallows, looking at the book at the librarian’s shoulder but not seeing it. Something in those words made a picture appear before his eyes. A great fire, flames licking at the sky and destroying everything in their path. The sounds of burning and the smells...

‘Weren’t there any witnesses left?’ He asks, suddenly nauseous. He already feels what the answer’s going to be.

‘I told you.’ The man tilts his head, eyes curious behind the glass. ‘The city burned down. Everyone perished. Every single citizen, rich and poor alike — gone. The people you see here now are those who moved here two years later and rebuilt. In a way...’ The man cuts off softly, and Jimin looks him the eyes. His gaze is intense. Way too much. ‘In a way, everyone you know are imposters. Foreigners. Don’t belong. You and I, my friend? We don’t belong in this world.’

Jimin suddenly feels cold. There’s a chill on his back, and he feels the hairs stand up on his nape. He swallows and takes a step back.

‘Strange,’ he whispers. ‘Someone told me a similar thing not so long ago.’

‘Well, then,’ the man replies, fixing his specks. ‘Maybe, you should listen to them more.’

Jimin nods, his mind suddenly frozen. He waves his palm in goodbye and turns away, his legs stuffy. It’s like everything crazy that’s happened to him in the past few weeks loses its ‘weird’ factor in the light of what he’s learned today. He walks out of the library, his bag heavy with the papers and his mind buzzing from all the information.

The man follows him with his gaze, a calculating yet curious look on his face. He’s lost in thought, hidden by the bookshelves. Suddenly, his phone vibrates, because of course he turned off the sound in the library, he’s not an impolite imbecile. Someone else would be startled by this, yet he calmly reaches into his pocket and answers the call.

‘Yes?’ He says softly, almost lovingly. Listens to the words spoken to him and smiles. ‘I just had to go take a look at something. I’ll be home by dinner.’ He murmurs, and after a beat and a response: ‘Love you too, Joonie.’

He puts the phone away and rubs his chin. Peculiar. He turns around and leaves the library before any of the sneaky guards Ares so wisely had put on Jimin can enter the little hidden space he’s standing in and see him, relaying the information to the god of war himself.

Nobody noticed him entering the university, and just like that, nobody notices him leaving. Some time will probably pass before they notice the absence of a book he’s taken, but he doesn’t care. This city has nothing on him.

VII

‘The trolley problem is a thought experiment that, honestly, is a goddamn pain in the ass of anyone trying to grasp the moral philosophy aspects.’

Jimin chuckles into his hand. This is why he loves this class. Professor Adachi is a genius, truly, and he never takes any bullshit. His classes are the ones Jimin actually looks forward to, and whenever he’s listening to his deep voice breaking down the ethics issues, he feels like he can also structure and explain his own life. It’s soothing. When you’re majoring in Psychology, you are faced with dilemmas and choices all the time, and while ethics is equally complicated in regards to making decisions, it is still somehow easier when guided by professor Adachi. He hates the guy who’s giving the Philosophy lectures, yet Yuto is the one everyone is aiming to get to. Jimin fought tooth and nail to get into his program. It was hard, and it’s even harder to stay in here, but honestly? Jimin is nailing it. Apart, of course, from this damn trolley problem they’ve been discussing for the past twenty minutes.

‘Do we know the people on the tracks?’ Taehyung from beside him suddenly says. It’s the first thing that came from his mouth since they’ve arrived, and Jimin smiles a little, happy that Tae is engaging in class he fought equally hard to enroll into.

‘Depends on who’s posing the problem,’ professor Adachi responds, bobbing his head a little. ‘Sometimes, that one person on the derailing track is your child. Sometimes, it’s a brilliant scientist that can... let’s say, cure cancer if he lives. The point is, you need to choose who’s more important — five workers, or one genius.’

Taehyung chuckles and rubs his forehead. Jimin is equally perplexed — the most obvious choice would be to go with the utilitarianism and kill the one instead of the five. It’s justified by every moral philosophy theory, and it’s almost always a correct answer until someone changes the setting. And then suddenly, you’re killing someone important to the world, which makes it complicated — is it correct, from the ethics point of view, to sacrifice the lives of five ordinary people to save one who is extraordinary? How do we assign those qualities? Does any life has a right to be considered more important than the other? Aren’t all lives equally precious?

This is why everybody hates moral philosophy professors. Jimin is ecstatic. He can’t, of course, express what he’s really thinking, because the ethical mess inside his head, while doesn’t disregard the equality of any human life, still doesn’t think all of them are that important. He’s always been morally ambiguous. It is extremely hard to stay a saint in this city, and especially now that he’s hanging out with the criminals (of whom one still hasn’t texted him back), so Jimin thinks there must be a way where the world doesn’t lose people who are truly needed.

Of course, from a different point of view — what if he judges those people on the tracks not from the perspective of their social importance, but from the simple side of who they are loved by? Surely, someone loves each one of those poor victims and waits for them at home. Professor Adachi even mentioned that in one of the versions the single person is the trolleyman’s child. But then again, how would he measure their importance? The choice is too complicated, and that’s why his mind is racing, thriving, excited for a challenge.

‘This is frustrating,’ he breathes out, and Taehyung chuckles, agreeing with him.

‘So basically,’ he calls out louder to attract professor Adachi’s attention. ‘There is only a correct way to solve the problem if we don’t know the people? And will never know them? This way, we just kill the one, say that Kamm allows it, and move on with our lives, not concerned as to what could have happened?’

‘Something like that.’ Adachi nods and chuckles. ‘Told you it’s a pain in the ass.’

Jimin falls back in his chair, huffing in frustration. There must be another way. The way that isn’t as obvious yet is more fruitful.

He imagines himself in the cabin of that damned trolley, his hand hovering over the leverage, fingers trembling as he’s getting ready to make his choice. Would his fingers tremble? Would he be sure with his decision if faced with a situation hands-on and not sitting in this comfortable class, his mind racing instead of his heart? He looks up in his mind, seeing the unsuspecting workers on the track, and thinks — they don’t even realize that I’m holding their lives in the palm of my hand. This is fascinating. In a way that makes some kind of unknown power course through his veins. He swallows. What if...?

‘What if I just derail the trolley?’ He asks suddenly, his throat dry. ‘Take it off the tracks altogether?’

Adachi tilts his head, looking at him intently.

‘This will kill you,’ he states simply. Not disregarding yet wondering.

‘Yeah, but I’ll be spared of the choice.’ Jimin shrugs. ‘And I won’t have to kill the others.’

The professor walks up to his desk, assessing him with his eyes.

‘This would be considered suicide,’ he muses.

Taehyung chuckles from Jimin’s left.

‘Or heroism,’ he says slowly. ‘Depends on who’s talking.’

‘Or cowardice.’

Jimin looks up at the new voice, startled. The boy talking is a new one, transferred a couple of weeks back, and Jimin thinks it’s the first time he hears him speak. He frowns.

‘Because I’m escaping the choice?’ He asks, something akin to glee in his soul. He’s thought of it, too, and it’s a wonder someone picked up on it and said it out loud.

‘Exactly.’ The boy nods and drums his fingers on the table. ‘You have a simple problem — one against five. You pick one, seeing as it’s lesser damage, and that’s it.’

‘But what about special conditions?’ Taehyung wonders, a soft smile to his lips.

The boy snorts, scratching his brow in annoyance.

‘Life rarely gives you time to consider the special conditions.’ He sniffs and looks away, a faraway look in his eyes. ‘You just see a threat, and you deal with it however your instincts are telling you.’

‘Well.’ Jimin chuckles and pulls at his necklace. ‘My instincts say to let go and let myself be taken instead of people I don’t know. The threat here is death, not the people.’

‘Yeah.’ The boy looks right into his eyes, and something so intense is in there that Jimin shudders internally. ‘Isn’t it always?’

‘All of your points are valid and fascinating,’ Adachi interrupts, the corners of his lips turned up.

‘But which one is right?’ The boy asks, kneading his palms.

‘Changkyun,’ professor warns, turning to him and sighing. ‘This is philosophy. There’s no right opinion.’

‘That’s annoying,’ some girl says, and Jimin feels like the little bubble of him, Taehyung, Changkyun, and the professor has burst. For some time there, he didn’t even register other people in the room. He blinks.

‘I know.’ Yuto nods. Smiles. ‘I love it. Don’t you?’

The group laughs quietly, and Yuto goes to his table.

‘You’re dismissed for today. I’ll email you your homework.’

They stand up, gathering their things, and Jimin looks at Taehyung who keeps grilling Changkyun with his gaze.

‘Hey, you okay?’ Jimin asks quietly while he’s hunched over his bag under the pretense of putting away his things.

Taehyung just nods, and Jimin breathes out in frustration. He knows there’s much more to it, but he thinks Taehyung needs to finally get laid.

They almost leave when Yuto stops them and gestures for them to come to his table. Jimin walks up to him, Taehyung at his side, and realizes Changkyun is also staying back. Something starts turning unpleasantly in his stomach, and he thinks about Yoongi. Is it his fault that Jimin started seeing threats everywhere? Or did he simply open Jimin’s eyes?

Once all the other students leave, shutting the door behind them, Yuto looks up at them, sighing.

‘You’re skipping your fourth period. I covered it.’

Jimin blinks, taken aback. Did he miss the first part of the conversation? Changkyun’s phone suddenly rings, and Jimin clutches the stripe of his bag, startled. The pen from Yuto’s table falls to the floor but he doesn’t pay it much heed.

‘Yah,’ Changkyun barks into the phone. He listens to someone speak for a few seconds and rolls his eyes. ‘Five minutes. Calm your tits, you grumpy dick.’

Taehyung suddenly gasps from his side, and Jimin looks at him, his brow arched.

‘I knew you looked familiar!’ Taehyung positively giggles, and Jimin watches in wonder how usually grim Changkyun’s lips start stretching in a bright smile.

‘Let’s catch up later, okay?’ He says and starts walking towards the door. ‘I have a very prissy god of war in the backyard. You should hear him diss students.’

Jimin’s mind clutches to the title, and he whips around to face the boy.

‘Yoongi is here?’

There’s silence, and he realizes that there was way too much glee in his voice. If he didn’t know any better, he’d say that he sounds like a boy with a crush. Which he isn’t. Totally.

Yuto stands up and folds his hands on his chest.

‘Yes, he called me this morning and asked to arrange your transfer here, since for some damn reason, it’s safer.’ He huffs, clearly annoyed. ‘I agree that you’re basically untouchable with him, but honestly, coming to the campus? To a crowd full of people? Christ.’

Jimin realizes he stares, but he can’t help it. He looks at Taehyung, and to his relief, his best friend looks like he’s none the wiser.

‘E-excuse me?’ He eventually squeals out, turning to his professor again.

Yuto purses his lips and looks at the floor. Sighs deeply and looks back up again.

‘Thanatos.’ He gestures to himself with his thumb. ‘I’m part of the so-called civilian crew.’

Now, finally, that’s something Jimin knows about. The civilian crew. People who don’t engage in deals and shoot-outs, but still support the gang activities when they can and prefer to stay on this side of the law. Their only crime is not ratting out their criminal acquaintances. At least, that’s what Yoongi’s been telling him. Poseidon is in charge of them, and a lot of them are somehow affiliated with the university as one of the biggest establishments in the city. But, and here’s the thing — only a few of them have nicknames.

‘Thanatos,’ Jimin repeats, blinking. ‘Moral philosophy professor.’

‘Yep.’ Yuto nods. ‘I did some interesting stuff for the Underworld back in the day. Still do. In exchange, they let me lead a relatively normal life.’

‘Huh,’ Taehyung chuckles. ‘Jungkook told me about you, but he never specified who you are.’

‘It was safer this way.’ Yuto shrugs. ‘The lesser people know about me, the better. Ares reached out to me a month ago, though, to ask to keep an eye on you.’

Jimin suddenly feels a lot of things. From the one side, he’s annoyed. He believed that at least here he wasn’t supervised, allowed some freedom of movement. But from the other side — is he really surprised? He knew that a lot of people here are affiliated with the gangs, and Yoongi had discreetly put people on him before. Hyungwon is one of them. He wasn’t keeping secrets, he was allowing Jimin the freedom of not being bothered. He huffs.

‘Alright, enough of this, okay?’ Changkyun calls out from the door. ‘I don’t want the grandpa accidentally stabbing someone because they looked at him wrong.’

That’s fair. They go to the exit, but there’s still one question he needs to ask before they leave.

‘Professor?’ He turns to Yuto who looks up at him. ‘What is it exactly that you do for the gang?’

Yuto stays silent for a while and sits down, shuffling his papers. Sighs and answers, not looking up.

‘I solve the trolley problem.’

/

‘I saw you that one time Yoongi was briefing the Monsta crew.’

It’s not that easy to catch up to Changkyun, so Taehyung has to ask his question in a breathless voice. Jimin tried to focus on the conversation, but his mind is reeling because here, Yoongi is here, after three weeks and twelve hours of ghosting. He swallows, trying to keep his excitement at bay. Tony sill hasn’t replied to him, so his mind is a whole mess.

‘Yeah, it was, like, two months ago?’ Changkyun says, looking around discreetly.

There are dozens of students in the hallways, so they get lost easily enough, but Jimin still feels uneasy. It’s probably just Changkyun’s paranoid face, but he feels like he’s being watched, and he tries to even his breathing.

Finally, they reach the back exit, and Jimin feels fresh April air on his skin. It doesn’t avert his attention — he scans the area, searching.

There’s a sleek black car standing nearby, and quite a few students are gathered around it. It’s not surprising — the car looks too expensive to be so far from the parking lot, so it’s bound to attract attention. Jimin scans the crowd but still doesn’t see the familiar face. Could it be that he misunderstood Changkyun?

He turns to the boy to ask this exact question, but to his surprise, and terror, neither the hitman nor Taehyung are anywhere in sight. He feels his lungs constrict and grabs his phone. He feels the hair on the back of his neck stand out, and he knows someone is behind him, but he doesn’t have the time to turn around.

There’s a hand on his elbow, holding tightly yet being gentle. It holds in place, not hurts. He closes his eyes for a second. He knows who it is. He finally smells magnolias and blood.

‘Don’t turn around,’ the familiar voice whispers near his neck. It’s muffled, and Jimin suspects a mask. It figures. He can’t show his face when so many students are around. ‘Move towards the back of the building.’

He complies, moving his feet. The urge to turn his head and look at his face, see if it’s changed in three weeks, if there are any new scars, is so strong that he almost does it. He gets to see a black cap before the fingers on his elbow squeeze tighter.

‘For fuck’s sake, Jiminie,’ Yoongi grits out, and Jimin almost laughs. Maybe, he doesn’t mind the nickname that much. ‘Just walk. I think we’re being watched.’

‘What about Taehyung?’ He asks quietly, speeding up his pace. Yoongi hisses and Jimin slows down again, sighing.

‘Changkyun is getting him to the car,’ Yoongi explains. They’re almost around the corner. ‘Wooseok and Jinho will take him.’

‘Take him where?’ Jimin wonders even if he already suspects it. ‘And aren’t we taking the car, too?’

‘No.’

He frowns, feeling a certain coldness in Yoongi’s voice. It’s unsettling. He almost decides to overthink it when they round the building, and he sees something that positively takes his breath away.

‘Is it yours?’ He whispers, unable to tear his gaze away from a gorgeous motorbike standing by the wall. There’s already another crowd around it, and Jimin gets why — it’s black and beautiful, all edges and metal, and if Ares had a horse, it definitely looked like the personification of this beauty.

‘Shit,’ Yoongi curses, clearly unamused by the people. Jimin feels something bump into his lower back. ‘Here, wear this.’

He reaches out and closes his fingers around a cold spherical thing. It’s a helmet, black with red and golden stripes along the tainted glass. It’s beautiful.

‘Did you pick it out just for me?’ He wonders. He knows it’s obnoxious, but something about the design screams Jimin.

Yoongi doesn’t respond, and Jimin obediently puts the helmet on.

‘Let’s go.’

They move towards the bike, and Yoongi finally lets go of him to walk ahead. Jimin doesn’t mind — he can finally see him. He’s wearing his signature leather jacket and black jeans, heavy boots leaving footprints in the dust. He seems smaller somehow, but Jimin thinks it’s empirical — he hasn’t seen him in weeks, and he spent way too much time listening to his deep voice that doesn’t always correlate with image of his body. There’s a black cap and a thick black mask on his face. Jimin can’t see his face, for Yoongi strides quickly and purposefully, scaring away the onlookers and climbing on the bike. Jimin doesn’t wait for another command — he gets on behind him, encircling his waist with his arms.

‘Aren’t you wearing a helmet?’ He asks, his voice muffled.

Yoongi ignores him once again, and Jimin feels irritation settle in his bones. He feels the urge to talk further, to annoy Yoongi into responding to him, but something stops him. Just as Yoongi lights the ignition, a familiar face stands out of the crowd, and Jimin sees Tony follow them with his gaze as they take off into the city. Jimin swallows and grips Yoongi’s waist tighter. It feels safer this way.

VII

It’s raining softly when they pull up at the Street. Jimin’s fingers are stiff where he’s holding onto Yoongi’s jacket, cold from the wind. He still doesn’t want to let go. Riding with Yoongi feels safe — and maybe because they were going too slow for Jimin’s liking. He wishes they could fly like the wind, but it’s impossible to achieve in the city and when they’re tailing a car with Taehyung in it. They were zagging, of course, and Jimin noticed Yoongi looking around, watching if someone is following them, more than once. It seems strange — that the most feared people would be so cautious, but a little voice in his head reminds him not to be so selfish — Yoongi is protecting civilians, and that’s why he is so careful. It made Jimin want to press closer and show Yoongi his gratitude. He kept his distance, only allowing himself gentle squeezes here and there. He doubts Yoongi noticed them.

He climbs down, pulling off the helmet and taking a deep breath. He goes to say something to Yoongi, but the man ignores him, riding away as soon as Taeyong shows up from the club’s backdoor.

Jimin tries to contain his irritation.

The car pulls up seconds later, and he shivers, watching how it slides smoothly right before him. Taehyung climbs out from the backseat, along with Wooseok and Jinho.

‘Hey, mom!’ Jinho calls out cheerfully, and Jimin rolls his eyes. Right, that.

He sees Changkyun climb from the backseat to the driver’s and wave his hand.

‘Nice meeting you,’ he calls out and closes the door, taking the car the same way Yoongi disappeared.

Taeyong embraces Taehyung softly, and the boy returns the hug, wrapping his hands around Orpheus’ back.

‘I missed you,’ they both say in unison, and Jimin chuckles.

Taeyong pulls away with a soft smile.

‘Jungkook is in his office,’ he informs them, but as soon as Tae is about to make a run for it, he stops him with his palm. ‘He doesn’t know you’re here. Yoongi thought it’d make a nice surprise.’

Jimin watches Tae’s rectangular smile appear for the first time in a month, and can’t help but feel a mixture of emotions. Relief, gratitude, happiness, and — this one is the weirdest yet — resignation. He can’t make Taehyung happy on his own, and by trying to keep him away from here, he’s making him miserable. The answer is obvious, and he’s been trying to accept it for the past three weeks. Maybe, it’s okay for them to stay. Maybe, they can be protected from the danger. Maybe, he can trust.

‘Why are you standing around? You’re gonna catch a cold.’

Jimin smiles softly to himself and turns to look at Yoongi.

‘We’re waiting for your majesty.’

Yoongi doesn’t even look at him. Just hums disapprovingly, and goes inside past all of them.

‘I’m so happy you’re here,’ Wooseok whispers to Jimin when Ares is out of sight. ‘He’s been so bitchy lately, it’s unsettling.’

‘And how am I supposed to fix it?’ Jimin snorts. They all start filling in one by one, and he grips his bag nervously. Just like last time, he starts feeling uneasy and a little annoyed here.

‘Oh, you know.’ Jinho shrugs.

Jimin really doesn’t. He hoped things will get more clear once he sees Yoongi in flesh, but here they are — separated by a few feet but as distant as ever. He frowns. The growing uneasiness keeps nagging at his insides. He rubs his chest.

They reach the familiar corridor, and Jimin goes faster, passing Yoongi and reaching Taehyung.

‘You okay?’ It’s a strange question to ask in these circumstances, but he still needs to make sure.

‘Better than ever,’ Taehyung answers just as they reach the door to Jungkook’s office.

Jimin looks it over — no new bullet holes, it seems. It doesn’t make him relieved as he hoped. Taehyung knocks softly, bouncing on his heels, his excitement barely containable.

‘Fuck off,’ comes through the door, and Jimin hears Taeyong snicker.

‘He’s been in a bad mood lately, as you can see,’ he murmurs. Jimin purses his lips.

‘What if it’s something important?’

‘Well, Yoongi and I always come in without knocking, anyway, and nobody is fearless enough to bring Hades any news.’

Taehyung knocks again, this time louder and more rapid. Jimin wonders why won’t he simply open the door, but it seems that Tae is playing his own little game, and well, as long as it makes him happy.

They hear heavy footsteps behind the door, and Taehyung almost squeals.

‘I told you to fuck off!’ Jungkook yells, throwing the door open. His face is twisted with annoyance and rage, but it goes away as quickly as the raindrops when he sees who’s before him.

‘Hi,’ Tae whispers softly, wiggling his fingers, his smile so wide Jimin fears he’ll hurt himself.

There’s a beat of silence, and then — Jungkook takes a step forward and wraps his hands around Taehyung, holding him tightly and breathing in his scent. Taehyung responds with the same — his arms are long enough to completely envelop Jungkook’s slim waist, and his neck, it seems, is perfect for Jungkook’s face to hide in its crook.

Jimin doesn’t know what he expected, but it definitely wasn’t this... This softness. Calmness. Content. Love. He watches, mesmerized, as they breath in each other’s presence, happy to just hold and be near. It makes something ache inside of him.

Suddenly, he feels like he’s prying. He turns away, walking back quietly. The voices start talking behind him, and he thinks he hears Taeyong make fun of Jungkook, but he isn’t keen on listening. He walks towards the room he was in the last time he was here, concentrated on his steps, his shoes softly leaving unseen prints on the wooden floor.

There’s nobody in the room when he gets there, and he drops on the couch, noting how familiar the pattern looks — the flowers, forever frozen in the state of near-blooming. It reminds him of something again, but just like always — he can’t put his finger on it.

He hears the door open and close again. He knows who it is. He feels him, just like he started to all that time ago just in this same room. Strangely enough, after wishing to see him for so many days straight, he now doesn’t want to face the man.

‘They’re catching up,’ Yoongi informs him. Jimin hears him pull out a glass and pour himself something. Jimin is drilling the TV with his gaze, remembering the cartoons they were watching. Ten, bleeding out all over the carpet, interrupted it. It was the first time that Jimin saw Yoongi. It was the first time he thought he hates him. It seems like today is going to be repetitive. He feels the same old irritation find its way back into his heart. He fears looking at Yoongi.

‘How are you, Jimin?’

Jimin grits his teeth. So now he wants to talk? Is he really curious, or is he trying to be polite? That’s bullshit, of course, for Yoongi is always tough and honest with him — the reason Jimin’s distaste turned to some form of strange affection so fast.

He finds that he really doesn’t want to talk to Yoongi. He wants to run away, and hide, and never show his face; as if being so close to him, as if admitting that he could like him, maybe, even... As if it upset the universe. As if something somewhere went against the script, and it needs to be fixed somehow. And now he feels powerless with irritation. He hugs himself, gripping his shoulders. He needs to power through this. He feels a panic attack coming on.

‘Oh, so now you want to ignore me.’

He closes his eyes and breathes in through his nose. He promised himself to keep silent, but it’s hard.

‘Well, you like that, don’t you?’ He whispers, not trusting his voice. He feels Yoongi standing near his couch, gripping his glass. He smells him. He hates him.

‘What I like is you being safe,’ Yoongi grits out, his rage barely contained. It seemed like his silence earlier hid his anger, let it boil and simmer until this moment, when it was safe to talk. ‘And if it means staying away from you to protect you, then fucking sue me for doing it. I would spend my life not seeing you if it meant you staying alive.’

Jimin wants to scream at him. Why does he say it with such raw emotion in his voice? Why does he make Jimin angrier, guiltier, and so miserable? Why does he feel this?

‘Then stay away.’ He doesn’t want to really say it, but he still does. He stands up, finally facing Yoongi and his hands in fists. Yoongi is still wearing his mask, and Jimin wishes to rip it away, for there is surely blood on his lips, there must be some evidence of his evil that Jimin feels with every fiber of his being. ‘Don’t call me, don’t text me, leave me alone! You have enough people to have us guarded. Then why are you here? Why did you ask to be the primary? Why do you keep responding to me? Stay the fuck away, if you want, if you really believe it will help!’

He can probably be heard outside of the room, but he doesn’t care. Something snaps inside, all the confusion and messy thoughts finally breaking free, attacking the man before him. There is some part of him that realizes there is something wrong with this — he got over his hate, he started to accept things, then why is it back full force once he himself is back in the Underworld? What power does this place hold over him? Why does he feel like he’s being chained to his anger whenever he’s here? It’s racing inside his mind, yet it’s too late to stop and think — once he started yelling, it’s hard to stop.

‘I didn’t ask for you, then why the fuck are you blaming me?’ He asks, stepping forward, invading Yoongi’s personal space. His hair falls to his eyes, Jimin notices, and it’s annoying — annoying that he notices. Yoongi’s gaze is unreadable, but his irises are blown. ‘Why do you keep looking at me like you’re waiting for something? I am me, take it or leave it, and stop looking for something that isn’t there.’

He breathes out, suddenly exhausted.

Jimin closes his eyes, trying to use this peculiar gift of his and feel what Yoongi feels. There’s only emptiness filled with pain, but that’s probably Jimin’s own emotions. He scratches at his face, trying to will it away.

‘I hate you so much,’ Jimin breathes out barely audible, and it hurts — hurts saying it and hurts feeling it. He feels like his entire body is on fire, and he falls on the couch, head in his hands. There is so much fire inside of him that it feels physically painful. He groans, feeling the sob rise in his chest. ‘And I don’t even know the reason.’

He starts shaking violently, his hands not obeying him, and it feels like his entire body is about to explode. The journal table starts rattling, and he doesn’t know if it’s real or he’s imagining it, his mind going aflame.

‘Are you alright?’ Yoongi’s voice is concerned and gentle, and it shouldn’t be like that, no, it’s wrong. Wrong.

‘Leave me alone,’ Jimin pleads, another sob making its way past his lips. ‘Stop caring about me, I don’t care about you. I don’t.’

Yoongi stays silent, unmoving and frozen. Jimin craves his touch, and it’s impossible — to hate him and need him so much.

_Let go._

‘I don’t need you to love me,’ Yoongi finally says, his voice hard and cold. ‘I just need you to follow my orders.’

‘I’m not your soldier.’ Jimin can’t look up, so he says it to the pattern on the table.

‘You want to be, though, don’t you?’ Yoongi asks and comes closer. Jimin sees a familiar dagger slide into his line of vision.

‘The training rooms are on the third floor,’ Yoongi informs him. ‘I’ll be in the C one. Come find me if you want to.’

Jimin listens to him walk away, and wants to call out. Wants to apologize and say he didn’t mean it — but as soon as the thought crosses his mind, the fire starts up again, licking at his veins, destroying just like it did with everyone in this city so long ago. He closes his eyes and waits for the door to close to break down in tears.

/

It takes him about an hour to stop sobbing and find the elevator. Nobody enters the room while he’s having his little breakdown, and he wonders if Yoongi told them not to. Out of spite, or out of caring?

He presses the third button and looks at himself in the little mirror. His eyes aren’t puffy anymore, but they’re red, and he closes them, willing himself to calm down. The burning annoyance is still inside, but it’s calmer now, maybe because he spent some time away from Yoongi. He fears seeing him again because it seems like Ares is the catalyst for his anger. Ares, not Yoongi, and it’s peculiar. He wants to leave this place, to go back home and sort out his thoughts, but he can’t leave yet. Something is still left for him to be seen, even if he doesn’t understand what.

The door chimes open and he’s faced with a long corridor, not unlike the one on the first floor. He takes a step, looking around. There’s about a dozen rooms, all with letters on them. He looks for C, trying not to pay too much attention to the other ones. Something makes his steps heavy and his breath hitch. Does he really want to go to C and face Yoongi right now? What if Yoongi himself isn’t there anymore? What if there’s not a soul in this entire building right now that cares about what Jimin is doing? It’s liberating in a way, and he takes a deep breath.

Suddenly, there’s a muffled scream, and he turns around, looking at the corner of the corridor. Common sense is telling him that there isn’t anything strange, considering the place he’s at, and that it isn’t wise to follow the sound. But Jimin, of course, disobeys, and makes a turn for the part of the floor he heard the sound from.

There’s another row of doors when he turns the corner, and he frowns, noticing that this wing is somehow colder. He shivers, feeling the chill, and it’s intriguing — so he takes another step towards the farthest door that seems to be covered with a thin layer of ice.

‘Jimin?’ He whips around, startled, and finds Taeyong standing behind him with some papers in his hands. ‘What are you doing here?’

‘Uhm, I—’ he starts, but it’s hard to talk, for some reason. Taeyong doesn’t look any different, but he senses that something... shifted since that day at the apartment. There is certainly more peace in Taeyong’s features, and he radiates content delight, like he’s... Like he’s in love? But it doesn’t make any sense because Jimin knows he’s been in love since he met Ten, and nothing changed in the past three weeks. Jimin blinks, trying to take his thoughts back on track. ‘I was looking for Yoongi. He told me to meet him at C about an hour ago. I’m a bit— late.’ He chuckles, nervous, and hopes Taeyong doesn’t think he was snooping around or something. He’s allowed to walk around here, right? Right?

‘C is that way.’ Taeyong gestures to where Jimin had come from. ‘And Yoongi isn’t there. He’s in the interrogation room.’

Jimin gasps softly. So Yoongi didn’t wait for him, after all. Makes sense. Jimin told him he hates him, and while the fire inside tells him it’s the truth, some part of his body is screaming in protest. It’s wrong. It’s wrong to feel something like that. He needs to deal with it, but he starts to understand it even more clearly — he needs to leave this place right now.

Taeyong is looking at him with his head tilted, and it’s probably evident — how disheveled Jimin is.

A thought crosses his mind then, the one that appeared while he was crying his soul out.

‘Taeyong, tell me,’ he starts, licking his dry lips. ‘Do you believe in magic?’

He expects Taeyong to laugh at him, or at least raise his eyebrows in disbelief, but the man stays calm, only tilting his head to the side.

‘Why do you ask? Did something happen to you?’ He takes a step closer as if that mysterious something left a mark on Jimin somewhere.

‘No— I don’t think so.’ He stumbles and breathes out in frustration. ‘I’m not sure. So, do you?’

‘I’ve seen things that would make not believing in magic stupid,’ Taeyong answers, a strange calculating look in his eyes. ‘I know a man, an actual witch, who could put to shame this entire gang with our guns and knives.’

Jimin feels his heart beat faster. Something that his mind entertained as a funny unreal possibility? Actually happening here, in his city?

‘Does this man know something about curses, by any chance?’ He frowns, disbelieving at himself for saying these words. Ridiculous. Curses?

‘Well, he’s not your regular hedge witch, so yeah, I think so.’ Taeyong is close to him now, and Jimin sees that the papers in his arms bear the familiar stamp of Kim’s precinct. ‘Talk to me, Chim.’

The familiar nickname, so often spoken by Taehyung, makes Jimin even more distressed. He wants to scratch at his skin, because the fire is coming back, and it’s suffocating him.

‘I think there’s something wrong with me,’ he whispers, hating himself for the tears that are about to spill again. ‘I think, this place... It does something to me.’

‘Why?’ Taeyong’s voice is so genuinely concerned, reminding Jimin that they are, in the weirdest sense of this word, almost friends.

‘Every time I’m here, I feel like I want to die,’ he confesses, putting all the messy thoughts into one. ‘Outside, I learned to accept and like you, but here— I hate you all so much. Even now, I’m talking, but the huge part of my mind craves something dark. It’s thinking about taking your gun to—’

He cuts himself off, terrified.

‘Kill me?’ Taeyong wonders quietly. Jimin, or at least the small part of him that’s still sane, is grateful that he makes no movement to protect the gun in his holster. It shows that Jimin is still trusted. For now.

‘No,’ Jimin croaks and looks up, right into Taeyong’s dark eyes. _‘Kill myself_.’

/

The room Taeyong takes him to is wide and circular. It reminds him of the police investigation rooms he used to frequent after his father’s incident because it has a two-way mirror into a small room with a single table and a chair on it, only this one is more posh and decorated.

_‘There are some spells around the hotel,’ Taeyong informed him while leading him to the door Jimin was interested in. Turns out, the ice on it was because it was located near another room — a great cooler that contained something Jimin really didn’t want to know the origins of. ‘Like I told you, our witch isn’t playing around. He does all the traditional stuff, of course, but he also can communicate with other worlds and spirits and all that shit. Gray magic, too.’_

_‘So he can tell what’s wrong with me?’ Jimin wondered quietly, his confession still ringing in his head._

_‘Maybe. But I actually need him to explain how he could fuck up a spell he described as ‘easy peasy dead bat sleazy.’’_

There are people in the room already, and honestly, Jimin doesn’t know why he looks up — he felt Yoongi being here even before Taeyong opened the door. He avoids making eye contact with him, instead choosing to study the other people here. One of them he already knows — Changkyun indicates that he sees Jimin with a slight wave of his arm with a Starbucks cup in it. It looks pink and delicious, and Jimin suddenly feels thirsty.

Next to Changkyun, two men are enveloped in a quiet conversation. Well, their voice are quite, but the movements of a sand-haired animated man can only be described as loud. His hands fly around as he’s furiously whispering something to the boy with grayish-blue hair next to him. That’s how he looks — like a young boy, barely eighteen, yet when he looks up and right into Jimin’s eyes, it’s obvious that his mind is far older. He tilts his head slightly, his lips parted, as he studies Jimin’s face.

‘You’re burning up,’ he notes, his voice soft and pleasant like honey. Jimin feels like the fire subsides under his gaze, and he takes a step closer, mesmerized.

‘And whose fault is that?’ Taeyong asks from beside Jimin, and Jimin is surprised to find that his voice is angry. He looks at Tae and realizes something — the man is worried. Taeyong is worried about Jimin. It sends a strange wave down Jimin’s spine, as if this simple act of kindness and affection acted as a repellent for the virus that is now residing in Jimin’s body. He takes a little step closer to Taeyong and wraps his pinky around Orpheus’. Tae turns to him and smiles softly, squeezing tighter. It helps Jimin, it truly does, and he feels like the fire is stepping away.

‘Care to explain anything?’ Yoongi’s voice is rough, and whatever small relief Jimin felt is gone now, replaced by the familiar anger.

‘Jungwoo?’ Taeyong gestures for Jimin to sit down, and the boy now known as Jungwoo stands up for Jimin to take his place.

Once Jimin is seated, he climbs on his lap, making Jimin squeal softly from surprise, and the other man with sand hair choke audibly.

‘Relax, Xuxi, it’s platonic,’ Jungwoo placates him, his fingers running down Jimin’s neck. ‘You’re Chim?’

‘Jimin,’ he croaks, his fingers gripping the armchair. ‘My best friend calls me Chim.’

‘Mhm. I figured,’ Jungwoo murmurs. His irises are blown, and whatever little color Jimin sees is completely purple, glinting like a precious stone. ‘So you know how there are spells around the hotel? I put them there myself.’

Jimin nods stiffly. He isn’t sure he can think properly, let alone talk. Jungwoo’s fingers are cold, leaving cooling traces along Jimin’s burning neck. He chances a glance behind Jungwoo’s shoulder, and there he is — looking at him, his gaze unreadable and his lips pursed, his fingers wrapped around the brass knuckles. He’s beautiful, Jimin thinks, and the same moment his head explodes with pain and hatred.

‘Ah, don’t look at them, look at me,’ Jungwoo whispers, turning Jimin’s face to look at him. ‘So. There is a spell that turns away the unwanted guests. Unless you are a member of the family, or were invited by one of the bosses, you cannot stay here for long. Because the more you spend where you were not invited, your mind will start filling up with dark thoughts and feelings that are not yours.’ His voice doesn’t change through his speech, his soft vowels wrapping around Jimin’s inflated mind like a healing cloth. ‘It’s a little trick of mine, you know? It’s easier to plant a thought into a mind than it is to create it from nothing, so I made it so the thoughts of all the dead people killed by someone from this hotel would haunt the uninvited guests.’

Jimin realizes that he’s gripping Jungwoo’s waist, his fingers desperate to hold him in place because he’s helping — he’s taking away the pain.

‘But I invited him,’ Taeyong says loudly from behind them, and Jimin flinches. Jungwoo shushes Tae and softly makes Jimin close his eyes. He sees darkness all around him, enveloping and consuming, and he doesn’t feel the real world — only this one exists. Jimin feels cool lips on his eyelids, and suddenly he sees stars, bright and colorful, and — calm.

‘Something went wrong, then.’ A soft whisper. A gush of breath over Jimin’s lips. ‘His mind is plagued by the thoughts of a devil dozen of dead men. The Aphrodite is strong, and they want to feed.’

He wants to contradict, refuse the title once again, but then he sees it. A soft white presence at the back of his mind, too vague to be recognized yet so gentle and alluring that Jimin almost reaches out before something else holds him back. He sees a strong hand on his forearm, and he looks up to see Ares, standing there in his armor, his face constricted with pain and longing.

_Not quite yet, my love._

/

‘What is wrong with him?’ Yoongi’s face holds none of the coldness it had just seconds ago. Once Jimin is out, he transforms — and Taeyong witnesses him running up to the chair where Jungwoo is sitting on top of the unconscious Jimin, his hands over Jimin’s neck, his lips pressed to his eyes.

Taeyong swallows. He knows there is something in Jimin that swept Yoongi, the man who refused any kinds of feelings, off his feet. Yoongi’s hands are shaking now where he’s gripping Jimin’s palm, and his entire frame is brimming with worry and... love? It’s not impossible, he knows, because people fall in love faster than after a month, but it’s the strangest thing — to witness it between people like them.

‘I put him in a trans,’ Jungwoo responds, his voice even softer than usual. ‘He needs to battle his demons.’

‘But you said that _you_ put those demons there,’ Yoongi contradicts, angry and heated voice falling from his trembling lips.

‘No,’ Jungwoo says simply and opens his glowing eyes to look at him. ‘My spells are never wrong, Min Yoongi. He was let in, wasn’t he?’

‘Yes.’ Taeyong steps closer, the memories racing in his mind. ‘I invited him myself, back when he first came to look for Taehyung.’

‘Well, that was why he was able to hold out for so long.’ Jungwoo’s fingers are flying over Jimin’s forehead, and Taeyong thinks he sees light purple fingerprints appear on his skin, immediately sinking through. ‘But there is something else. His mind is cursed.’

At this, Yoongi’s head snaps up, his features twisted in rage.

‘ _What?_ ’

‘Not by me.’ Jungwoo frowns, his fingers running over Jimin’s lips. ‘My spell met another one — already in Jimin’s mind, and it backfired.’

Taeyong can physically see how much Yoongi is shaking with anger, and he comes closer, putting his hand on his brother’s shoulder and squeezing tightly.

‘Will he be alright?’ Taeyong wonders. Jimin looks pale and sick, as if his blood turned cold already. It’s a terrifying look on him.

‘I’ll need to work on it.’ Jungwoo leans back, still not climbing off Jimin, and takes his phone. ‘Xuxi, sunshine, I’m sending you a list of ingredients. Would you be so kind as to run down to the shop and get them? Sicheng will help you.’

Lucas, who sat frozen before then, comes alive and stands up, his bag already on his shoulder. He nods curtly, and leaves, but not before Jungwoo baits him closer and gives him a soft kiss on the lips. Taeyong tries not to focus too much on that, but he’s happy for them — Lucas has been pining for months.

‘We need to transport him somewhere,’ Jungwoo remarks once Lucas is gone. Taeyong’s mind immediately goes to one of his surgery rooms — the closest one is on the fifth floor. ‘I would like to perform my work at _Hecate_ , but I don’t believe it’s safe to separate Jimin and the hotel right now.’

‘My rooms,’ Yoongi says gravely before Taeyong can offer something. He sighs, realizing that there isn’t any point in trying to reason with Yoongi now.

‘It really doesn’t matter to me.’ Jungwoo shrugs and stands down, carefully as to not disturb Jimin. ‘As long as he’s lying down.’

Yoongi stands up then, and takes the boy in his arms. Taeyong witnessed Yoongi carrying people more than once — in their line of work, everybody has had to carry their injured friend from time to time, hell, Taeyong himself ended up in Yoongi’s arms at some point. But this is the first time that he sees Yoongi being so careful. There’s urgency in his movements, for sure, but it’s contained, brimming on the edges of his frame but never overspilling — because it would mean hurting Jimin.

‘Changkyun,’ he calls out, watching Yoongi walk out. ‘Would you look over our guest?’

Changkyun sat calmly throughout the whole magical business, sipping on his drink, and it’s honestly what Taeyong would expect of him. Taeyong chances a glance inside the interrogation room where the prisoner that Lucas dragged in is curled up in the corner. They were about to question him when Tae found Jimin, and well, priorities changed.

‘Sure,’ Changkyun drawls out. ‘But if I get bored, I’ll start without you.’

Taeyong chuckles, going for the door.

‘Knock yourself out, but don’t forget to ask the questions I need.’ He gestures to the papers he brought with himself, now left on the table, and leaves the room.

When he catches up to the others on the ninth floor, they’re met with a complication. Taeyong smiles softly when he sees it, and goes to gently touch its wrist.

‘Is everything alright?’ Ten asks quietly, his worried gaze focused on Jimin in Yoongi’s arms. Taeyong opens the door, and they go inside, dark, ominous mood over the whole party.

‘It will be,’ Taeyong answers firmly.

‘Can I help somehow?’ Ten asks, and Taeyong knows why — Yoongi means the world to Ten, and he’s used to seeing Ares collected and cold. The sight of him so distressed must be torturing Ten, and Taeyong wishes he could help, but this time, it’s on Yoongi.

The man himself gently lowers Jimin on the covers, making sure his head is secure, and he’s lying comfortably. He stands above him, his profile hard and getting more unreadable by the second. Taeyong knows what’s happening — Yoongi is closing off, and it’s really not a good thing.

‘Make sure Taehyung doesn’t hear anything about this,’ Yoongi answers, turning to Ten and giving his a stern look. ‘I don’t want him worried.’

‘The last I heard, they went to Jungkook’s rooms,’ Ten replies, and Taeyong notices slight red on his cheeks. It figures what they’re doing there.

‘Good, it’ll keep them distracted for a few hours.’ Yoongi nods to himself, and nobody in the room chooses to comment on why they know the extent of their boss’s stamina. ‘Ten, I’m training the kids tonight. Take over me. They’re already past defense, you can start on knives.’

Ten wants to say something but thinks better of it and just nods curtly, chewing on his lips. Taeyong catches his eye and smiles reassuringly. Ten breathes out and leaves the room, the soft clicking of the lock being the only sound in the room for the next twenty minutes.

Jungwoo is sitting next to Jimin on the bed, his hands constantly running over his body, his glowing eyes unblinking. Yoongi is sitting on the floor, Jimin’s hand grasped in his palm, his gaze not leaving Jimin’s face.

Taeyong wonders what’s going through his head. He’s not stupid, and he’s know Yoongi for years. He’s brave and loyal, vengeful and at times mad, a quiet force to be reckoned with; on guard where it’s needed, first in the battle when he attacks. He never told them he loved them but Taeyong doesn’t need it. Nobody does. The three of them were always a family from the second they spent their first night at the old bar, huddled together because Jungkook was too proud and determined to accept money from the family. Everything they had they spent on guns but not the people — those came themselves. Once the news about the youngest son starting his own independent family spread, their warriors started filling in, eager to help and be a part of a fledgling of the gang. They even had help from the Other city — Richard and Louis sent their own men as the show of partnership to come. Hell, even Auntie sent some of her forces. People in this area then were the cruel and disgusting remnants of Cronus’s reign, unwilling to give up the territory they considered theirs by right. A lot of blood was spilled then, but nobody ever dared saying that Hades didn’t deserve his place. They went through it all together, and they love each other — that is evident. Yoongi saved Taeyong from a bullet more than once, Taeyong pulled Jungkook out from the edge countless times, and Jungkook is the one who can convince Yoongi to keep breathing when the mighty god of war feels the urge to give up.

Taeyong saw Yoongi in an uncountable number of states, but he’s never seen him in love, and maybe, that’s why it took him so long to realize what’s happening. Yoongi has been smitten from day one. Taeyong remembers him asking about Jimin with a weird look on his face, but he was too preoccupied with worrying about Ten to pay it much heed. He should’ve been more attentive. He saw other signs, of course — in the ways Yoongi always demanded the most detailed reports from Taeyong’s shifts at the apartment, and how he never went to rest until he called everyone on duty and made sure everything was in order. He is always efficient, but there was something personal about those calls.

The most scary part of the past month was probably the day Taeyong told him about the Kim incident and the weeks after. Yoongi was livid. He destroyed four punching bags that night, but he never said a word. While Jungkook, upon hearing the news, started thinking through the ways it was allowed to happen and planning to eliminate Kim without hurting Taehyung, Yoongi locked himself in the training room. When he finally emerged, his knuckles were bruised and his face strict. He was a nightmare for days after — pestering every guard about Jimin’s state, and while he tried to cover it up as worrying about his own assignment, Taeyong knows what was happening.

It makes sense, he thinks. Yoongi never needed anyone to keep him stable, because he was always, unwaveringly, on the edge. That edge was sharp and dangerous, only a dark endless pit next to it, and Taeyong never stopped fearing that one day Yoongi will topple over, stumble and fall, his mind going forever into the darkness. He never really needed anyone to get him away from the pit — he just needed someone to walk by his side. And then Jimin appeared.

It’s not an obsession. He knows Yoongi is probably trying to write it off to finding another thing for his inflated mind to fixate on, but it’s something different. Yoongi is constantly in the state of waiting for something to happen, his muscles ready for battle; and maybe that’s why, when someone he didn’t need to fight came along, it became hard for him to understand it. He’s attached to the boy on his bed in ways he doesn’t even completely understand. Taeyong isn’t sure he understands them, either, but it’s easier for him to see it from an outsider’s perspective. The outsider who was by Yoongi’s side for years, knows him better than the man does himself.

He comes closer and sits next to Yoongi. It’s not Taeyong’s thing — to be tactile, but this time it’s easy to wrap his hand around Yoongi’s shoulders and hold him close.

The man stays still but relaxes a bit into his brother’s embrace.

Yoongi is not a shameful man, and he’s known for never beating around the bush and always being honest, so he candidly admits to himself that he’s fucked.

Jimin’s unconscious face is, hands down, the most serene scene Yoongi had ever witnessed, even when he knows that there are nightmares lurking underneath. Jungwoo seems to be holding him in a stable state, and his skin is still hot but not burning like before. It’s good.

It’s hard. Knowing that he’s suffering but not being able to help. He thinks about everything that’s happened since Jimin first walked in here. It’s been, what, a month?, yet he already knows that he won’t be able to leave Jimin’s life when the need calls. Even now, he can’t let go of his hand as if his own life depends on it. It probably does.

He needs to let go. Jimin hates him, and yes, maybe it was the curse talking, but he can still see his burning eyes and hear his rough voice.

Even if he didn’t mean it, even if there wasn’t an ounce of his own soul in those words, Yoongi still needs to stay away. Jimin has his perfect life ahead of him — a degree in Psychology, polite and civil acquaintances instead of criminals, and a cozy house with his immaculate boyfriend. Because he is — Yoongi ran checks. Jihoon’s report was as thorough as it was filled with jokes. Tony, virtually, is a regular poster boy. His parents provided him with everything a kid in this city might need to turn out alright — money and good reputation. He has no offences, is an exemplary student, and his psych eval puts a regular officer to shame.

Yoongi hates his guts. And maybe, it’s because the sight of him touching Jimin awakens some ancient rage inside of Yoongi, or maybe, it’s because whenever Yoongi looks at the guy he knows — he’s bad news. Something inside his soul screams at him to get rid of Tony as soon as possible, and it’s the same certain emotion as the one that tells him that Jimin is what Yoongi needs to stay sane.

Jimin makes a soft sound, and Yoongi swallows, looking at Jungwoo.

‘Someone’s helping him,’ the witch whispers. ‘From the other side.’

Yoongi looks at Jimin’s face. He wishes he knew what’s going on inside that pretty head.

It’s strange, so strange. He’s been waiting for something earth-shattering for so long, and it only took him a few weeks and a glance to admit that it’s him. The boy whose hand he’s gripping but who is so far out of his reach. He wants to ask the sky why it had to send him this annoying brat after all this years but still make him impossible to touch. He would give everything to have him completely, have the honor to hold his hand and call him his.

Is it becoming another obsession? He tends to have those. He smells grapes. Of course.

Jimin is suffering.

Would he turn it all back around if he knew? Would he prefer not meeting Jimin at all? More so, would he change himself to be someone more deserving of his friendship and, possibly at some mesmerizing moment in the future, his love? Would their story have a more beautiful beginning if Tony wasn’t in the picture? Would Jimin risk his normal life to be with Yoongi? Would Yoongi even have something to offer him aside from constant danger and blood stains on his leather jacket, and curses that plague his mind whenever he’s near? Because nobody is saying it, but it’s obvious — this thing seems to grow stronger when Jimin is near Yoongi, and yeah, that’s a comforting thought.

All the questions, and the only answer Yoongi knows isn’t even the one he needs.

‘I’d burn down the world for you, you know,’ he murmurs, looking at Jimin’s pale eyelids. It hurts. He doesn’t care that other people can hear him. Nothing matters but him.

Is he in love, or is he obsessed? Is it possible to be in love with someone you know almost nothing about?

But that’s not really true, is it? Jimin isn’t the only one affected by their constants calls and messages. Yoongi was never the guy to memorize funny details about his day to later tell someone in an attempt to lift their mood. He never even cared about things he saw every day, but now he’s looking for something exciting to share with Jimin, to show him how beautiful this city is even with all of its terror and blood.

And he, of course, knows how breathtaking Jimin is. How kind his soul is even though he pretends that nothing concerns him in this world apart from his and Taehyung’s wellbeing. How brave he is, and strong, and fierce to the point the life never could bring him down because he wouldn’t let it. Yoongi read the report on Jimin, they all did before he appeared, and he knows what the boy went through with his father, constantly on medication and between psychiatrists, and Yoongi saw the pictures of Jimin’s injuries. He looks down at his ribs now where the scars are hiding under his t-shirt. He knows how much he went through, and how he never let it break his spirit. He knows how smart he is, being a straight A’s student even after spending a month in the hospital. He knows how passionate he is, minoring in Dance and beating every competitor he’s ever had, his grace immense, his talent overpowering, his beauty mesmerizing. He knows how soft his voice is, having listened to the recording Taehyung showed him. He knows how precious his laugh is, because he, Yoongi, the baddest asshole in this city, made Jimin happy for at least a few seconds and heard the gentle song of his laughter. He knows that he desperately wishes to help. He knows that he’s in love with Park Jimin.

‘I know,’ comes a soft voice, and Yoongi snaps his head to look at him, but there’s nothing.

His eyes are closed, and his breathing is still hitched, yet his lips are barely stretched in the smallest of smiles. Yoongi releases a breath he’s been holding and closes his eyes.

‘Fascinating,’ Jungwoo murmurs but doesn’t elaborate.

It has to end. He has to get over it, learn to hide it better. Jimin isn’t his, and won’t ever be, and maybe that what he was waiting for — the realization that he doesn’t get to be happy. He’s not made for love or bliss, or god forbid, a relationship. Maybe, he’s just supposed to be Jimin’s safety? His guardian. Someone who watches over him while he lives his perfect life. Of course, he’s already failing, but he’ll get better, he will.

There is a lot of darkness in this world, and the one Yoongi is a part of is just a small portion of it. It’s his home. And if he can’t share its beauty with Jimin, then he will simply shield him from the rest of it. He will allow Jimin to stay in the light because it’s his choice, not something Yoongi feels he’s entitled to. Jimin doesn’t belong to him. But he will be damned if he lets anything hurt him.

It feels like an epiphany yet the promised catharsis never comes. He doesn’t feel lighter, just simply determined.

He breathes in. Smells grapes and roses.

‘Do you see anything about that other curse?’ His voice is quiet and low.

‘Shapes,’ Jungwoo shares. ‘Whatever it is, it was cast by someone strong.’

‘Aren’t you the strongest?’ Taeyong asks from where his chin is resting on Yoongi’s shoulder.

‘I am. That’s why it’s interesting.’ Jungwoo runs his hand through this hair and breathes out. ‘I just feel like I need to make it clear, Ares, I had nothing to do with it. I wouldn’t touch someone innocent. Let alone your boy.’

‘He’s not my boy, Hecate,’ Yoongi notes quietly. He isn’t. ‘And I know. I don’t blame you.’

‘I like you, Yoongi,’ Jungwoo says in a gentler tone. ‘I promise I’ll find out who did it.’

‘For now, I just need you to bring him back.’

Yoongi can’t resist it — he puts Jimin’s fingers to his lips. Please. _Just open your eyes_.

‘Lucas is here,’ Jungwoo informs them, and a second later Hermes himself walks in, a satchel in his hands.

‘Everything’s here,’ he reports, handing the ingredients to Jungwoo and looking at Jimin’s face. ‘How is he?’

Yoongi flinches as Jimin’s fingers twitch in his hand. He gets paler and paler by the second.

‘Just give me some time,’ Jungwoo murmurs, standing up and putting everything on the table by the window. He mixes something together, and it looks like he’s whispering under his breath but Yoongi can’t hear him. He sees the herbs in Jungwoo’s hands glow, though, and absorb the powder Jungwoo is putting on them.

Jimin moans softly, and Yoongi focuses on him. His fingers start shaking, his entire frame on the bed getting into frenzy.

‘It’s feeling me,’ Jungwoo explains, coming closer with a strange-looking charged herb in his palm. ‘Whoever did this better pray I don’t get to the bottom of it, because I swear I will eviscerate them.’

He climbs up on the bed, sitting on Jimin again, and at first Yoongi doesn’t understand the necessity of it. But as Jungwoo opens Jimin’s mouth and puts his charmed herb in there, the boy starts shaking violently, and if it weren’t for Jungwoo holding him down, he would fall off.

‘Everybody out!’ Jungwoo screams as strange sounds start coming from Jimin — growling and wheezing, something from the other side of the life, and it’s terrifying. Taeyong and Lucas leave the room, but Yoongi can’t look away. ‘Yoongi, you too! It’s for his fucking safety!’

It’s hard, it’s the hardest thing he ever had to do — letting go of Jimin’s hand, but he can’t risk it. He promised himself to protect him, and if sometimes it means letting him go — then be it.

He grits his teeth and stands up, ready to untangle his fingers from Jimin’s — but it’s impossible.

‘He won’t let go,’ he whispers, looking at Jungwoo. The witch looks grim, his hands still on Jimin’s neck and mouth, his eyes fixed on their intertwined hands.

‘Fine.’ He looks mad but determined. The door slams shut on its own will. ‘Then you better hold him really well.’

Yoongi nods and sits down again, gripping Jimin’s palm with both his hands. His entire body is cold, as if he wasn’t running a fever just half an hour ago, and it’s terrifying — Yoongi keeps gripping his hand yet it doesn’t get warm.

‘Whoever you are,’ Jungwoo whispers, his eyes glowing, his lips stretched out in a cruel grimace. ‘I will hunt you down and destroy you if you don’t leave his body right the fuck now.’

It seems as if he’s addressing the curse inside Jimin as a sentient being, and it makes sense — because Jimin’s own face stretches out in a mocking mask and cold, distorted laughter stars coming from his mouth. Yoongi swallows, watching the face of the boy who is so gentle turn into a monster. It’s not Jimin. Jimin can be cruel and mad but he would never look like this. Jungwoo keeps chanting under his breath but it doesn’t seem to be helping. His voice gets more rough, and he seems to be losing his patience.

Yoongi leans closer, compelled by a sudden urge, and presses his lips to Jimin’s cheek.

 _‘He’s mine,_ ’ he growls into his ear, squeezing Jimin’s hand to a point it hurts his own. ‘ _You’ll never have him._ ’

As soon as the words leave his mouth, everything stills. It’s so quiet Yoongi can hear Jimin’s heart beat wildly.

 _ **‘I took him from you once before,’**_ Jimin’s lips growl, his voice unrecognizable. **_‘I can do it again.’_**

And then he starts shaking again, so wildly the bed is trembling, and Yoongi has to stand up and hold Jimin’s body down to prevent Jungwoo from falling.

Yoongi watches in horror how golden smoke starts sipping through Jimin’s lips, leaving his body and dissipating through the open window, disappearing in the air as if it never was here.

Jimin starts coughing wildly, his airways hurt and scratched. Jungwoo leans forward and opens his mouth to pull something from his throat. As soon as it’s out and Jungwoo climbs off of him, Jimin opens his eyes and gulps for air, his hands flying to his chest.

‘What in the holy fuck,’ he croaks, and lowers his gaze to see Yoongi’s face right above him, his hands still gripping Jimin’s shoulders.

Yoongi startles and leans back, feeling as is his palms are burned, but Jimin doesn’t let him go far. He jerks up to pull Yoongi into an embrace, his hands gripping Yoongi’s backs, his face in his collar, breathing in deeply. Yoongi doesn’t give himself time to go into shock. His hands move as if out of their own will, wrapping around Jimin’s waist, scooping him in and holding tightly.

‘I know you hate me, but please never scare me like that,’ he pleads, his voice muffled where he’s pressing his face into Jimin’s hair.

‘I don’t hate you,’ Jimin whispers, his voice tiny and rasped.

Yoongi doesn’t get to say anything else — the door flies open, and Taehyung bursts in, Jungkook and the others on his heels.

Jungwoo sighs loudly, his forehead covered in sweat. ‘Perfect timing,’ he grunts. ‘We’re just about done.’

Taehyung lunges to them, and Yoongi tries to pull back even though he really doesn’t want to, but Jimin doesn’t let him. He buries himself deeper into the lines of Yoongi’s body, but Taehyung doesn’t seem to mind it — he jumps on the bed and hugs Jimin from the back.

‘I thought I ordered not to call for him,’ Yoongi grunts in the general direction of Taeyong.

‘He didn’t,’ Jungkook answers. Yoongi feels his presence near the bed. ‘Taehyung... felt it.’

Yoongi looks up at Tae. His eyes are red and his hair tangled, his lips shaking where he’s pressing them to Jimin’s shoulder.

‘I was falling asleep, actually,’ he says, quietly and gently. Yoongi appreciates it. ‘And then I saw something... In the corner of my eye. Someone trying to grab Jimin.’

‘He jerked up saying Jimin was dying,’ Jungkook continues when Taehyung falls silent, his eyes watering. Yoongi can feel Jimin crying too, but he presses him closer, allowing him the privacy and comfort.

‘And he was.’ Jungwoo is gathering his things, the thing he pulled out from Jimin’s mouth now in a glass vial. Yoongi can’t see what it is, but it looks small and red. ‘It’s a blessing I got to him when I did. And still.’ He turns around, holding up the vial and pointing to Yoongi with it. ‘Without you, I doubt I could be successful.’

Jungkook walks around the bed, coming into Yoongi’s line of vision. He’s wearing just pants, and a funny hysterical thought crosses Yoongi’s mind — sorry for interrupting, boss. Hades takes the vial in his hands, turning it around.

‘A poppy,’ he murmurs. ‘This is...’

‘Someone’s symbol, yes.’ Jungwoo nods, a funny hesitant expression on his face. ‘There are only three people in this town who have it, though.’

Yoongi realizes something then — and it makes him press Jimin closer. No.

‘I’m among them.’

Jungkook does it first, and Yoongi is grateful. He can’t even entertain the thought.

‘Indeed.’ Jungwoo nods.

‘I’m shit at magic,’ Jungkook says, his face hard. ‘And I have more people on my hit-list than my boyfriend’s best friend.’

Jimin makes a soft sound then, and Yoongi focuses his attention on him, softly whispering, ‘What is it?’

‘I don’t know who it was,’ Jimin says weakly, his fingers gripping Yoongi’s t-shirt. ‘But I know it’s not you.’

Jungkook sighs and hands the vial back to Jungwoo. Comes closer to the bed and sits next to Yoongi, his face now gentle and open even though Jimin still doesn’t look up.

‘Do you remember anything, darling?’

He rarely talks like that, showing his soft and kind side, and it’s a show of how much Jimin affects people — they can’t help but like him, no matter how bitchy or stubborn he is. Yoongi wants to smile, but his lips are trembling too much.

Jimin stays silent for a while, sniffing softly. Yoongi is content to wait hours for him, but it only takes about a minute.

‘No,’ he whispers and presses closer. ‘Just seeing Jungwoo and passing out. And then it was darkness, and the feeling of— longing. I felt like I was cursed — it was like a physical touch of something dark and sinister. Someone was trying to get me away, but it wasn’t letting go. But then I—’ Jimin cuts off, and Yoongi feels his warm tears fall on his neck again. ‘I heard Yoongi and woke up.’

Yoongi can’t help it — he makes a desperate sound in his throat, and closes his eyes, holding Jimin even closer even if it seems impossible.

‘I’ll always pull you out, I promise,’ he whispers in Jimin’s ear just so that only he hears it.

‘I know.’ Just as quiet, and just as desperate.

VII

‘You better fucking tell me what I want to hear, or I swear I’ll decorate my bedroom with your guts.’

Changkyun is probably Shownu’s best hitman. His interrogation skills, however, leave much to be desired, Taeyong notes as he walks in to see Tantalus towering over their guest. He’s usually a pretty nice and outgoing guy when there’s no danger, but when he’s working — well. It’s a whole vision.

‘Tell me,’ Taeyong says with a sigh, picking up the overturned chair and sitting down on it. ‘Did he actually resist, or did you start beating him because he breathed?’

The guy looks awful. Bloody face, blue spreading from his probably broken nose, one of his teeth missing — and it probably went out the hard way, if his split lips are of any indication. He isn’t even tied up but he wouldn’t be able to stand up to Changkyun anyway. The guy has a mean punch.

‘He wanted to play the silent game.’ Changkyun shrugs, his hands gripping the prisoner’s shirt. Taeyong looks down — his legs aren’t broken, but they definitely took a few hits. He sighs.

‘You’re a fucking animal,’ the guy spits out, blood and saliva leaking from his mouth. Taeyong flinches.

‘I am what I am,’ Changkyun growls and lets him go with a final punch to the stomach. He stands up and shakes off his jacket. ‘He’s all yours. I’m gonna finish my drink.’

He plumps down on the table, legs crosses, and starts sipping from his cup. His drink. It’s a strawberry milkshake, for fuck’s sake.

‘Alright.’ Taeyong stands up and grabs the guy, pulling him up and on the chair. He feels pain in his back, but that’s nothing new — he’s had it since he spent a few cold nights sleeping on the street. ‘Assuming our dear Tantalus didn’t get anything out of you, let’s start over. I’m Orpheus.’

‘I know who you are,’ the guy whispers, his voice raspy and his gaze full of hatred.

Taeyong looks at him, schooling his expression to be cool. It doesn’t yet mean anything. Yes, he’s more of an indoors guy, and not a lot of people, even in the Underworld, know his face, but everything is possible. He can’t place the guy’s face but it’s possible that he used to work for them and memorized him. And still. He feels uneasy.

‘Well, I don’t know you,’ he says, tilting his head. ‘Mind introducing yourself? And while you’re at it, do tell what were you doing trying to break into Hecate’s shop? Scared the youngster, too.’

Of course, Sicheng wasn’t as much scared as he was pissed, as Jungwoo had put it. The boy was minding his business working in the supply room when he heard someone break the window to Jungwoo’s private study. Upon investigation, he found this dumbass with a cut in his hand, because apparently he was as good of a burglar as he was a conversationalist. Taeyong thinks — it’s lucky nobody of Sicheng’s admirers was in the shop. Eos is a quiet and kind kid, and it attracts the affections of certain people, and even if the mildest of them — Seokjin’s Muse Yuta — was there, the guy could've never made it here in one piece.

Jungwoo wasn’t pleased with the intruder, either — as Taeyong understood it correctly from his detached comments and Yukhei’s red face, they were having some kind of a tender moment. Taeyong honestly doesn’t want to know the details. He’s already aware of too much criminal romantic gossip.

In any case, there weren’t any guards in the near vicinity because Jungwoo doesn’t like them lurking near the shop, so they brought the man here.

He looks at the guy’s face — grim determination and annoying silence. If he was a worse man, he’d hit him too. The prisoner stays silent. Taeyong closes his eyes to collect himself. The whole Jimin business threw him out of loop, and there’s a nagging thought at the back of his mind — Yoongi is a mess right now; and Taeyong is stuck here, with this uncooperative piece of shit.

‘Listen.’ He sighs when the silence continues. ‘Let’s make it easy. You tell me who sent you and why, and I don’t let Tantalus here bash your head in. Eh?’

The guy tilts his head and spits blood on the floor.

‘What, you can’t do it yourself?’ His voice is raspy and angry. There is something there more than just annoyance at being caught. He seems to hold a grudge against Taeyong himself. ‘Ah yes, I forgot, you’re too weak for that. Everything you’re good for is hiding behind the big daddy’s back, right?’

Taeyong stills. This is too specific to be a simple insult he came up with in the spur of the moment. He tilts his head and narrows his eyes.

‘You’re trying to get yourself killed?’ He wonders, his voice taking on a mocking tone.

‘What, you want to murder me?’ The guy laughs bitterly. There is so much hate in his eyes, so much resentment. Taeyong wonders if they know each other.

‘Well, yeah.’ Taeyong chuckles and wipes at his lips. ‘Who do you think I am? Camp counselor?’

Changkyun finishes his drink with a loud slurp and jumps off, signaling that he’s going to leave for a refill. Taeyong nods, not really worried — he can take care of himself, and some people know he’s in there, so somebody is supposed to come soon and watch this scene from behind the glass. Maybe, someone’s already there. He’s hoping it’s Ten, or at least Johnny.

‘You’re a criminal scum,’ their prisoner spits out meanwhile.

Taeyong frowns and emits a disbelieving laugh.

‘What are you, a cop?’ He chuckles again, but stills when there is no response. ‘Oh gods, you are.’

He comes closer and crouches in front of the guy, studying his face even more closely. There is something about him he can’t quite place. Something familiar yet new. Taeyong purses his lips.

‘You’re one of Kim’s, eh?’

The guy chuckles bitterly and spits again.

‘Like I would ever run under that scum.’

‘You’re not denying you’re a cop, though,’ Taeyong says quietly, gears turning in his head. There is one other possibility, and it makes him uneasy — to even entertain it, to dig too deep. But it may be a threat to the family, and so he grits his teeth and does it. ‘Do you run under Red Velvet?’

The guy jerks and immediately stills, but it’s too late. Taeyong saw what he needed. He rubs his face, feeling an urge to scream. Fuck.

‘Fascinating,’ he murmurs.

Stands up and goes to the table where the belongings of their unfortunate guest are lying. No wallet, just a phone. Smart, but not enough. It’s locked without the option to use Touch ID, and he stares at the password field.

‘I don’t suppose you’ll give me your code, eh?’ He calls out. The guys stays predictably silent.

Taeyong leans back until his spine hits the table and sighs.

‘I’m going to tell you a story. Stop me if I’m wrong,’ he starts softly, studying the guy’s face for any indications of... something. ‘You always wanted to be a good guy. Grew up in the crime-ridden city thinking that, hey, I can be the good guy if nobody else will! And you believed it, really was going for it until some point. Until you saw that you can’t fix anything because here’s the thing — there is nothing here to fix. This city is supposed to be like this. It always was, and always will, and in any universe there is a point in the map where it exists just the same. But you can’t turn back. You’re already ridden with these morals, and you can’t just bounce to being the same as everyone else. You join the force but see that they’re all in one boat with the criminals. Even the most righteous of them is a moral asshole.’

The guy is studying the floor intently with such a painful look on his face that it’s obvious — he’s listening and doesn’t hear a word of lie. Taeyong looks at the mirror. He hopes nobody is on the other side.

‘And then,‘ he says even more quietly, worrying his lip and stroking his knuckle, deep in thought. ‘Someone appears. She’s new. She’s righteous. She wants to wipe out the crime, and she’s doing it right and fast. There’s no dragging it out and planning like with Kim. She already has her plans, and she just needs the means to achieve them. Why not join her and help?’

He tilts his head and swallows. Come on. Prove me wrong. I need you to.

The guy stays silent. Taeyong crouches before him again and breathes in deeply.

‘Tell me I’m wrong,’ he whispers, almost pleadingly.

The guy looks straight into his eyes, his own dark and full of such pure hate it’s impossible it comes from him. Someone put it there.

‘She was right. You have a way with words,’ he seethes back at him. Taeyong really wants to break another one of his teeth.

 _’Who is she?’_ He asks deeply, really wishing to scream.

But there’s nothing. He swallows, trying to stay calm.

The door opens, and Changkyun comes in, slurping a blueberry milkshake in his hands.

‘You done yet?’ He wonders, jumping up on the table.

‘No, but I think our guest will stay overnight.’ Taeyong stands up, rubbing his face. ‘Lock him up, please. We’ll wait for Ares to come back and have a chat with him. That’ll get him to talk.’

Changkyun makes a distressed noise and pouts.

‘Hey, why wait for Ares, I can torture him! Can I torture him?’ He whines, and Taeyong rolls his eyes, amused more than annoyed. ‘Pretty please?’

Amazing. He think he’ll never stop being surprised by the colorful crowd they employ.

‘No, sorry,’ he says gently and takes the guy’s phone. ‘I’ll take this to Aether. His guys will crack it in no time.’

Changkyun sighs overdramatically and jumps off, grabbing the prisoner’s collar and dragging him outside.

When the room is empty, Taeyong lets himself slump on the chair and bury his face in his hands.

It’s getting out of hand yet he still doesn’t feel like he has enough information to make a solid case to Jungkook. Granted, Hades will listen and trust him no matter what, but there are just too many threads Taeyong still needs to cut off before he is positive that his suspicions are true. He swallows. He’ll need to talk to Taehyung about going to the precinct but going over Jungkook’s head feels sour in his mouth. Maybe, he’ll tell him, after all. Shit. He kicks the table and screams out.

‘What’s with the vandalism?’ The voice coming from the door is hesitant but strong.

He looks up to see Mark in the entrance, his palm gripping the handle and his face bearing the mask of overachieved confidence. Taeyong smiles a little to ease the boy’s mind. It’s been a few months since he joined them but it’s still obvious that he feels uneasy sometimes. Taeyong can’t even imagine what it must have felt like — choosing between the person who saved you from death, raised you, and taught you everything you know, and the person you fell in love with. Mark made his choice and he seems not to regret it, yet Taeyong can still see the sadness in him sometimes. They’ve hit it off pretty well, despite the rumors that he isn’t the most outgoing guy, and it feels now like Taeyong is responsible for him even if Yoongi is the one mentoring him.

‘Sorry,’ he says quietly. ‘Just frustrated.’

Mark nods a few time, looking down.

‘Want to talk about it?’ He asks, tilting his head, and the thing is — he means it. He’s just like that.

‘Nah,’ Taeyong refuses but stands up and comes up to Mark, putting his hand on the younger’s shoulder. ‘But wanna come down to Aether with me for a favor?’

Mark perks up, a smile tugging at his lips.

‘Sure! I can go for you, if you want?’ He offers, and he isn’t even trying to be a suckup — once again, he’s just like that.

‘No, I need to talk to him about some things, anyway.’

They leave the room, and Taeyong thinks about Aether as they walk outside. Well, he knows him as Seungcheol, also the man who literally has eyes all over the city. He’s also in charge of the crew of people who could probably hack this entire city if they were bored enough. They’ll know what to do with a locked phone.

He notices that Yoongi’s car isn’t in the garage. He usually uses the bike, but if he were getting Jimin home, it’s wise that he took the car. He sighs. The thoughts his mind spit out at him back in Yoongi’s room come rushing back, and he thinks — it seems that love is really fond of their gang. Otherwise, why would it take up so much of their time and such big parts of their minds? Taeyong swallows, and murmurs: we’re all mad here.

VII

Yoongi stops the car two blocks down from the apartment complex. He drums his fingers on the steering wheel and looks at the boy in his passenger seat.

_‘Take me home, please,’ Jimin whispers softly, his face still buried in Yoongi’s shirt._

_They’re alone now, Jungkook having convinced Taehyung to get some rest and allow Jimin his. Tae wasn’t really thrilled about it because Jimin was still sobbing softly then, but he took one look at Yoongi’s face and saw something there that convinced him. He nodded and gave Jimin’s hair a soft kiss._

_‘Keep him safe,’ he whispered to Yoongi._

_‘Always,’ Yoongi responded, his hands numb from holding Jimin — but he knew he won’t let go._

_And now they’re sitting together on Yoongi’s bed, cool breeze from the window making Jimin’s sweaty back shiver. Yoongi rubs it to warm it up and sighs._

_Jungwoo said that Jimin is safe now, both to stay in the hotel and leave it. There is something ugly inside of Yoongi — wishing for Jimin to look around more and come to love the building as much as Yoongi does. But he tries not to be selfish. These walls are too traumatizing for Jimin, and he needs to take him away._

_‘Alright, sun,’ he murmurs and strokes Jimin’s back. ‘Can you stand up?’_

_It takes Jimin about a minute to disentangle himself from Yoongi, and when he finally looks up, Yoongi barely holds back from flinching. Jimin notices his shocked gaze anyway. He rubs his face self-consciously._

_‘What is it?’ His voice is raspy now that he’s talking louder._

_Yoongi can’t resist — he brings his hand up and cradles Jimin’s face in his palm. His eyes are puffy and red, yet what really upsets him are the irises — the golden wires on the dark color. They’re faded now but he can’t predict if they'll ever disappear._

_‘You’re beautiful,’ he says instead, because it’s true. And he is too exhausted to hold back._

_Jimin frowns and looks down. Yoongi closes his eyes briefly, cursing himself, and stands up._

_‘Where are your things? I’ll go get them.’_

_‘They’re down in that room, I think,’ Jimin responds, his vocal cords getting stronger by the second. ‘But uhm, could maybe Taehyung pick them up later? I don’t really—’ He makes a frustrated sigh, and Yoongi turns around to see his lips pressed in a stubborn pout. Interesting. ‘I don’t really want to be alone right now. Let’s just leave.’_

_Yoongi takes a close look at him. He’s chewing on his lips, his small fingers pressed together. He’s nervous? It’s understandable, considering what he just went through, but there is still a peculiar tint to it._

_‘Okay,’ Yoongi says simply. He thinks it isn’t the best idea to be too overbearing right now. ‘You still need a jacket. It’s chilly.’_

_A wild thought crosses his mind — to give him the jacket of Ares, but he chases it away immediately. He literally promised himself not to— Not to feel this. He goes to his wardrobe and picks another leather jacket, this one with floral pattern and a lot smaller than his own. He doesn’t particularly remember where he got it, but he used to wear it back when he was still running alone. He always liked flowers._

_‘Here.’ He comes to the bed, reaching out and handing Jimin the jacket. ‘I don’t remember the last time I wore this, so sorry if it smells like old stuff.’_

_Jimin takes it tentatively and presses it to his face. Yoongi’s heart skips a beat. Alright, maybe this wasn’t the best idea._

_‘It’s okay,’ Jimin murmurs and climbs off, his legs weak. He throws the jacket on. It fits perfectly. Yoongi swallows. ‘Let’s go.’_

_Jimin stays close to him as they walk to the elevator and to the underground garage. They’re about to climb into Yoongi’s car when Jimin stops and looks at him over the hood._

_‘Hey,’ he calls out nervously. ‘I meant it. I mean, that I didn’t mean it.’_

_Yoongi raises his eyebrows, not knowing how to react._

_‘O-okay?’ He tries, trying to understand what he’s talking about._

_‘I mean... I don’t hate you, Yoongi,’ he states firmly, looking him straight in the eye. ‘I really don’t. Maybe, I felt some resentment at first, but not anymore.’_

_Yoongi grips the door to keep his hands from shaking. It’s too much. Maybe, it would be better if Jimin really did hate him. It would be easier._

_‘Thank you,’ he says, quietly, not trusting his voice._

_‘I don’t.’ Jimin nods again, as if telling this to himself rather than to Yoongi. ‘How could I ever?’_

_And with this, he disappears into the car, leaving Yoongi staring at the wall, thinking for the second time this day that he is, indeed, extremely fucked._

And now they’re here, waiting for Hyungwon to text back and report that the path is clear. They haven’t said a word to each other all the way here, but it doesn’t feel awkward.

‘How are you feeling?’ Yoongi breaks the silence, watching Jimin’s face for any indication of pain.

‘Better,’ Jimin replies honestly. ‘I’m still a bit nauseous, but Jungwoo said it’ll pass soon. Apparently, he stuffed quite a concoction down my throat back there.’

Yoongi nods to himself (because Jimin still isn’t looking at him) and looks down at his phone.

‘Shit,’ he murmurs and clenches his jaw. ‘Tony is there.’

‘What?’ Jimin turns to him finally, his face twisted in confusion. ‘He— Fuck. I really don’t want to see him now.’

It shouldn’t bring Yoongi any joy, and if he was a better man, it wouldn’t. He isn’t, though, so he allows his soul to celebrate a little.

‘I could make him go away, you know.’ He shrugs, wiggling his eyebrows.

Jimin looks over and snorts.

‘Please, refrain from murdering my boyfriends,’ he asks, his tone wry. It feels nice to have the little bitch back.

‘How about just this one?’ Yoongi offers, pouting and fighting off a smile.

Jimin rolls his eyes and rubs his chest.

‘Could you wait out here?’ He asks, looking out to the street to check how far it is to walk. ‘I’ll make him go away and text you.’

Yoongi’s immediate thought is to refuse because like hell is he letting Jimin out of his sight. It must be evident on his face because Jimin rolls his eyes and slaps his arm.

‘Relax, mom, Hyungwon will see that nobody touches me. It’s only two blocks, what could possibly happen?’

‘Okay, you know that’s the phrase after which all the shit goes down.’ Yoongi points his finger at him accusingly. ‘If you know how I feel, why would you say it?’

And finally — it works. Jimin throws his head back and laughs, his bright voice filling up the car and making Yoongi smile himself. It takes Jimin good thirty seconds to calm down, and he rubs his face, his head between his legs.

‘You’re such an idiot, I can’t,’ he breathes out and straightens. ‘Please? I really don’t want to deal with Tony getting all jealous on me. Besides, I’m tired of lying to him.’

Yoongi sighs deeply, looking at him from the corner of his eyes. He looks outside — Hyungwon is standing on the corner, looking around, the car in his line of vision.

‘Fine,’ he agrees but lifts his finger to point at Jimin again. ‘But I’m not waiting until he leaves. If you’re so sure you can make him go away, I’ll just park the car from the other side and meet you in the apartment.’

Jimin blinks, the gears turning slowly in his head.

‘It’s the seventh floor,’ he says slowly. ‘And there’s only one entrance to the building.’

Now it’s Yoongi’s turn to roll his eyes.

‘You don’t get to be Ares without knowing how to climb a few buildings,’ he informs Jimin a little smugly. ‘So go ahead. I’ll meet you on the balcony.’

‘What, you can climb seven stories but can’t pick a lock?’ Jimin raises his eyebrow mockingly, his body turning unconsciously towards Yoongi.

‘Please,’ Yoongi huffs. ‘I just want to have a cigarette.’

Jimin makes a puffing sound and opens the door.

‘Okay, but if I come inside to you standing there like a lost puppy, you’re sleeping on the couch there.’

He doesn’t wait for the answer, cutting any attempt to respond on Yoongi’s part by shutting the door. He turns around, walking backwards, wiggling his eyebrows as if saying, ‘Bite me, I got the last word.’ Yoongi flips him off and starts the ignition. What a brat. Maybe, it’s not a surprise Yoongi has fallen for him so fast.

/

It feels nice to stretch his legs after the day he had. He’s still smiling, their conversation still in his head, when he turns the corner and sees Tony standing near the entrance. Jimin schools his expression and walks faster, his hands in his pockets, the keys clenched in his fist.

‘Hey,’ he greets Tony first, swallowing and not looking up. His head and neck still hurt a little, and he really doesn’t want to strain them now. ‘What are you doing here?’

‘You weren’t responding to my messages,’ Tony says grimly. Jimin gets out his phone, having completely forgotten it exists, and tries to unlock it. All he’s met with is black screen.

‘The battery went out, sorry.’ He takes a step around Tony and comes inside the building. ‘And I didn’t think you would text me, seeing as you’ve been ignoring me.’

He doesn’t want to fight — he just wants to go inside and take a shower, and maybe have a bitching contest with Ares.

He’s stopped by the hand on the door. He stares at it, feeling angry and tired. ‘Look at me, please,’ Tony asks, hard vowels and grim tone.

Jimin closes his eyes briefly and sighs. Looks up at his.. Boyfriend. He isn’t sure what Tony can see on his face, but Yoongi seemed shaken when he saw it.

‘What’s wrong with your eyes?’ Tony asks, his own eyes wide and his mouth slightly open.

Jimin purses his lips. ‘Allergic reaction. It’ll pass soon.’ He’s not lying — he did get allergic to a curse (it still feels surreal. Magic. Here. Connected to him) and it will disappear soon (as Jungwoo had told him. Jungwoo. A witch. With spells and shit. Cool).

‘Did you take something?’ Tony asks, frowning and looking around as if Jimin’s supposed junkie friends will appear any second to snatch him away and get high some more.

Jimin sighs frustratedly. ‘No. Tony, please, I’m tired, just go home.’

‘Whose jacket is it?’

Jimin’s mind goes blank with confusion as he looks down at what he’s wearing. He completely forgot about it. As if hypnotized, he strokes the flower sewed on the leather and breathes out.

‘A friend’s,’ he murmurs.

Tony’s face is grim. It seems like he wants to say something, but Jimin doesn’t want to listen to it — he takes a step toward the door just for the path to be blocked fucking again.

‘No, wait.’ He steps closer and dams the entrance altogether. Jimin steps back, annoyed. ‘Please, talk to me. Here, I brought you your favorite smoothie?’

He holds out a cup, a weak smile on his lips. Despite the anger Jimin feels, it still sends a nice sting to his heart. Tony has always been making him these fantastic cocktails and smoothies, and maybe, Jimin just need to cool down before sending him away. They’re dating, after all. He sighs and takes the cup, ready to take a sip just to make Tony calm down and let him enter.

The second his lips touch the creamy liquid, he feels like they get burned. The nausea comes back full force and he throws the cup away on instinct, doubling over and retching. His stomach is empty so nothing comes out but he still feels the hard contractions of his body trying to get rid of something that it doesn’t like.

‘What the hell?’ Tony shouts out, standing frozen in shock.

Jimin watches, mesmerizes, as the smoothie flows on the pavement, light pink color stained with something purplish.

‘I’m sorry, I don’t feel so good,’ he grits out, breathing through his mouth. ‘I’ll go.’ He stands up and goes for the door again.

‘No, wait, Jimin.’ He’s getting really tired of being blocked.

‘Tony, I swear, if you don’t let me pass right now, I will punch you and leave you to bleed,’ he growls, overcome with sudden rage. ‘You’ve been ignoring me, treating me like a fucking throwaway doll, and now you suddenly want to talk when it’s convenient for you? It doesn’t work like that.’

Tony stares at him, dark circle under his eyes standing out. Jimin worries about him, but it’s not his problem right now — if Tony doesn’t want them to be a real couple, then to hell with him. He steps forward, his face leaning forward to press his forehead to Jimin’s.

‘I love you,’ he says frantically, his hands gripping Jimin’s wrists, and Jimin feels — appalled. He takes his hands away and steps back.

‘My condolences,’ he whispers, not looking him in the eyes. His mouth tastes sour. He swallows and closes his eyes. ‘I would really like you to leave.’

He doesn’t wait for the reaction — he walks around him and opens the door, walking inside and shutting it beside him, making sure the lock is activated. It’s good he didn’t give Tony the keys.

The elevator ride feels like an eternity. He stares at himself in the mirror and doesn’t recognize the face looking back at him. Ruffled hair, pale face, and red eyelids. His pupils are blown and whatever color he can see is tainted with gold. It’s starting to fade, but he can imagine how bright it was when he just woke up.

He blinks, chasing away the images of the nightmare. It’s not the time to think about it. The elevator opens, and he steps out to see the door to his apartment open, Yoongi leaning on the frame, his hands crossed on his chest. Jimin breathes out and smiles.

‘So you can pick locks, after all.’ He chuckles and comes inside, passing Yoongi so close that he feels the heat of his body and smells the familiar mix of magnolias and blood. He used to hate it. It brings him peace now.

‘Are you okay?’ Yoongi calls out to him. Jimin hears the door close as he throws himself on the couch face down. ‘I kinda overheard your conversation with Tony. Sorry.’

Jimin groans quietly into the pillow and wishes to never open his eyes again. There’s a shift on the couch as Yoongi sits down, and Jimin turns to his side, cracking his right eye open.

‘I don’t even know what we’re doing anymore,’ he confesses. ‘I mean. I’m not in love with him. If we weren’t dating, I doubt I’d even notice him, let alone be friends with him.’

Yoongi is looking down on him with an unreadable face. Purses his lips and looks toward the window to the balcony.

‘Why are you with him, then?’

Jimin’s insides freeze at the mere thought of telling Yoongi the truth, but lying feels — wrong. They had a rocky start, but Yoongi has been nothing but honest with him. Jimin sits up and tucks his legs under him, his eyes studying Yoongi’s profile.

‘He helped me out with something,’ he says, quietly, his lips shaking. It feels strange. He’s never told anyone the truth, not even Taehyung. But he feels — Yoongi will understand. ‘I had a huge debt with the hospital, and he promised to make it go away. I don’t know exactly what he did, but his father runs the place, and after his promise, I haven’t heard from them again.’

Yoongi turns to look at him.

‘When was it?’

It’s the last question Jimin expects to hear, but well, Yoongi never turns out to be what Jimin thinks.

‘Uhm.’ He frowns. ‘About five months ago. After my father’s incident.’

Yoongi nods, but doesn’t elaborate. Jimin swallows.

‘Anyway, we started hanging out, and at some point, it just—’ He doesn’t remember the exact day or how it happened, he just knows that one day he woke up and knew that last night Tony kissed him. ‘Happened.’

Yoongi sighs and turns to him with his full body so that they’re at the same level. He rubs his lips.

‘Then, if it isn’t working out... Do you feel guilty? Does he hold that favor over your head?’ He tilts his head, genuine, pure interest in his eyes, and Jimin blinks, feeling enticed.

‘No,’ he says with weak voice. Direct eye contact with Yoongi is messing up his thoughts. ‘I just feel... Like, if I can’t make it work, then it’s just another failure on my part. Just another thing I didn’t know how to do right. Just another flaw in me, and—’

He doesn’t get to finish this little self deprecation parade because there’s a hand on his palm, holding gently yet strongly.

‘Shut up, please,’ Yoongi asks with a stern voice. ‘That’s honestly bullshit. Relationships don’t always work. It’s not someone’s flaw.’

Jimin can’t look away from him — his hair falling on his eyes, too-long and with his roots showing under the bleach. It suddenly fascinates Jimin.

‘What am I if not a good boyfriend, good friend, good son?’ He doesn’t know what possesses him to say it but as soon as it’s out he realizes — that’s what has been gnawing at him for weeks now. He sighs frustratedly and starts picking at his jeans with his free hand. The other one is still holding Yoongi’s. ‘I mean... I couldn’t be enough of a caring boy for my father not to lose it. He was better when mom was around, you know? But I just couldn’t keep up with him and his psychosis, and... And I wasn’t enough of a loving friend for Taehyung not to run away from me the second he met someone he liked. He didn’t feel like he can trust me, so he didn’t tell me anything — just took off in the middle of the night and texted me every few days. And now, I’m not enough of a nice boyfriend for Tony not to be distant. I’m losing my identity piece by piece, and all because I’m not enough.’

His breaks off his rant and takes a deep breath. Yoongi is holding his hand so tight it feels like a grounding center of his body. He licks his lips.

‘You know what I’m thinking?’ Yoongi says, his voice barely above a whisper yet Jimin hears it like he’s right in his ear. ‘You should stop defining yourself through your relationships with other people.’

Jimin blinks a few times, trying to get his breathing under control. Yoongi licks his lips.

‘You’re not someone else’s something. You’re the person you build yourself to be. You’re son, friend, boyfriend second. First — you’re Jimin. Beautiful. Smart. Kind. Selfless enough to be good, selfish to a point it’s clear that you’re just human. Witty. Brat. Dancer. Singer.’ He furrows his brow and opens his mouth comically as if he’s trying to make himself say something but isn’t sure it’s the right thing. ‘Powerful.’

Jimin feels like his mind is on fire yet this time it’s not like at the hotel — now, it’s a pleasant warmth, as if something inside of him rejoices at hearing Yoongi’s voice praise him, and do it with such a strong feeling of believing his own words.

‘You’re flattering me,’ he says, biting his lip and tilting his head. Yoongi’s eyelashes are long and mesmerizing. The man leans closer.

‘I’m really not, Jiminnie.’

They stay there, studying each other and not uttering a word, for what must be twenty minutes. It feels exhilarating — just sitting near him and feeling his skin, and just being. Jimin doesn’t think he’s ever felt such a strong connection to someone, and he feels — free. As if the curse took with it all the reservation Jimin had about him, and now he is faced with the only truth of his real feelings — he likes Yoongi. He doesn’t want to define it yet, but it’s there, and it makes warmth spread on his cheeks.

He clears his throat and lowers his gaze.

‘I need to take a shower, I think,’ he murmurs, suddenly shy.

He stands up, reluctantly taking his hand away.

‘There’s some food in the fridge if you’re hungry.’ He doesn’t look at Yoongi as he walks to his room because he feels like it’s already too much — his cheeks are burning and the hand Yoongi was holding is stinging.

His room is dark when he closes the door and presses his forehead to it. It seems like an eternity has passed since he was getting ready for college today. He turns around to look at his bed. The covers are wrinkled because as immaculate as he is, he hates making his bed — most of it is justified by the fact that he holds a grudge against it since he can never fucking sleep like a normal person. He blinks, feeling his heavy eyelids now. Maybe, he can finally get some rest after the day spent with Yoongi. Maybe, he can even... No. He can’t, and he shouldn’t.

He sighs and takes off his clothes, pausing before throwing the jacket on the bed. He’s alone, so he can allow it to himself — he presses it close to his face and breathes in deeply. Yoongi said it’s an old jacket of his, but it still smells like him — and Jimin is exhilarated. He rubs his chest to try and get rid of this strange feeling of longing in him.

He takes his time in the shower. The water is as hot as he could make it but he still feels cold, and the memories of his nightmare won’t let go — he remembers being so cold he couldn’t move, and now he’s afraid to feel it again.

It’s hard to make himself wipe the steam off the mirror to look at his face. It’s red now from the shower, but he can see the dark circles under his eyes. At least those aren’t golden anymore. His blond hair falls on his eyes, and he can’t take it for some reason — it’s like it’s wrong, like it’s obscuring his vision with its color, and there’s something he’s supposed to look at but can’t see.

He opens the cabinet where all the dye he ever bought is laying, and makes a decision.

/

When Jimin comes out of the shower a whole hour later, Yoongi chokes on the carrot he’s been chewing.

‘What do you think?’ Jimin looks down, as if he’s shy, and it’s such a peculiar expression on him that Yoongi is lost at words. Jimin takes it as a bad sign and frowns, kneading his palms. ‘I mean, if it looks bad, I’ll wash it out quickly, but it’s still gonna hold like this for a couple of weeks.’

Yoongi swallows panically and comes around the counter separating the kitchen and the living room to walk over to Jimin.

His hair is blue. Well. More like sky-blue, with hints of silver here and there, and he looks like an angel. Yoongi thinks that it’s fucking unfair of the universe to do this to him just when he decided to fight all the feelings bullshit inside of him.

‘It’s amazing,’ he chokes out, his hands itching to reach out and check if Jimin’s hair as soft as it looks.

Jimin relaxes visibly and smiles so wide his eyes disappear.

‘Just got really bored of blonde.’ He shrugs and bites his lips. There’s a mischievous look on his face, and he throws a glance at Yoongi’s hair. ‘You could use a change too.’

It’s an innocent observation in and on itself, but something about the tone of his voice makes Yoongi’s insides freeze. Jimin is smiling like a smug cat, and no matter how adorable it looks, it will take more than that for Min Yoongi to dye his fucking hair.

‘No,’ he says sternly, ready to defend his head with all he has. Jimin steps closer, the beginnings of a pout on his lips, and Yoongi raises his hands, feeling panicky. ‘Jiminnie, no. I’m fine like it is!’

Jimin keeps advancing on him and Yoongi keeps backing away until his back hits the kitchen counter. His brain automatically starts assessing a situation, and he thinks — he can always jump out the window, the balcony is a reached out hand away from him.

‘Come o-on,’ Jimin whines, and no, it is too much for Yoongi’s poor heart. He can practically hear Hoseok laughing his ass off when he hears about this. ‘At least let me bleach it over, your roots are horrible.’

‘My roots are very pleased with themselves, thank you very much,’ Yoongi bites back. In any other situation, he’d be already threatening his assailant with a knife, but they’ve been there with Jimin already — it does not work. ‘And I don’t want to stay blonde, I’m waiting for it to grow out.’

Jimin opens his mouth but pauses and tilts his head.

‘I’d love to see you with your natural hair,’ he whispers, mesmerized, but then blinks. ‘Why did you even bleach it, then?’

Yoongi purses his lips. He hates that story.

‘I lost a bet,’ he confesses, his eyes on the ceiling. ‘Against the best stylist of this town.’

Jimin’s eyes widen, and Yoongi watches with horror how his lips starts stretching.

‘I’m not telling you what the bet was!’ He says hurriedly. It’s too embarrassing. ‘Just know that if you ever hear me telling that Helios is a dick, it’s not just because he’s too sneaky for my liking.’

This isn’t exactly true, because Jaehyun is calm and collected by everyone else’s standards, and Yoongi knows a lot of people actually like him — but there is some bone-deep resentment that Yoongi feels every time he sees Helios, and he stopped trying to find the reason a long time ago.

‘Wait.’ Jimin holds up his finger. It’s small and cute. Yoongi did not sign up for this torture. Oh wait, he did. Shit. ‘Helios? As in the coolest and most expensive salon in this entire city?’

Yoongi rolls his eyes. Another person off the list of people who could join him in sneering at that dick.

‘Yeah,’ he drawls out. ‘He even closed down the shop for the first time in ever just to bleach my hair and gloat.’

‘So you were the dick who didn’t let me have an appointment!’ Jimin screams out, appalled. ‘They are literally booked for months in advance! I waited half a year for that appointment!’

Yoongi sucks in his lips and tries to school his expression to look like a guilty one. Jimin looks terrifying.

‘Sorry?’ He squeaks out. His brain immediately supplies him with a reminder that Min Yoongi does not squeak. He clears his throat. ‘How about I make Jaehyun do whatever you want to you, completely free of charge?’

Jimin opens his mouth and closes it again, his face thoughtful. Yoongi holds his breath while he’s considering it.

‘No,’ he finally says, and Yoongi doesn’t feel relieved, for some reason. ‘I mean, I’m gonna make you do it anyway at some point. But right now, you’re going to do me another favor.’

He’s smiling like an evil mastermind, and Yoongi really wants to possess the moral strength to slap him. He looks him over and sighs at the sight of blue hair. It looks stunning on him. Yoongi doesn’t really have a choice.

He slumps his shoulders and sighs, resigned.

‘Fine,’ he says grimly, trying to put up his usual Ares-not-in-the-mood look that terrifies everyone who knows him every time.

He should’ve expected for it not to work on Jimin, he thinks half an hour later as he looks at himself in the mirror. His hair is freshly washed, yellow strands peeking out here and there. He’s sitting in front of the sink on a high chair Jimin excitedly dragged from the kitchen, and the guy himself is standing behind him, the look of an unjustifiable glee on his face. All things considered, Yoongi thinks that it’s worth it — because Jimin is smiling and is happy, and that’s enough for Yoongi. He’ll suffer going bald if it means Jimin will make himself gleeful by making fun of him.

‘So, which color should we do?’ Jimin rubs his chin as he looks over the array of bottles.

Yoongi widens his eyes in terror. ‘No. We agreed on a blonde. That’s it. Do whatever shit you need to- to make it not yellow, and that’s it.’

Jimin turns around to look at his face directly and raises his eyebrow. Honestly, Yoongi thinks, he does not have the right to look this good. There’s supposed to be a prohibiting law somewhere. Yoongi is willing to pay Vernon to invent it. He works in court, he should know how to do it.

‘But Yoongi,’ Jimin says softly, and this is more terrifying that when he was yelling at him. ‘It would simply be a crime to leave you all blonde and shit. You’re the face of the Underworld. Or well, its fists, at least.’

He’s standing close, too close for Yoongi’s brain to function properly, and all he can do is stare at his collarbones that are right before his eyes. He swallows and looks at the bottles.

‘This is ridiculous.’

Jimin giggles and plays with Yoongi’s yellow hair.

‘No, _this_ is ridiculous.’ He turns to the array of dye and picks up the one with the bright red label. ‘Mm?’

Yoongi, to his name, actually considers it. Red is fitting — he is the god of war, after all. It still seems too extreme, though.

‘Something lighter?’ He frowns, rubbing his lips.

Jimin lights up. ‘Pink?’

 _‘No.’_ Yoongi says sternly but sputters upon seeing Jimin’s grim face. ‘Listen, I don’t have anything against pink, and it’s actually very... Pretty. But I cannot simply rule the streets with pink fucking hair.’

Jimin sighs and pouts his lips.

‘I could’ve,’ he murmurs mockingly and shrugs. Picks up another bottle.

‘I’m sure you could,’ Yoongi agrees, actually allowing himself to entertain the thought — Jimin as part of them. Another one of the criminals. He could definitely pull off pink hair and being a gang member. Yoongi swallows, not letting his mind to wander further.

‘Alright, then, blue it is,’ Jimin says confidently and starts mixing the dye before Yoongi can say anything. ‘We don’t want people to think we’re twinning, so I’m just going to do your tips and tone the roots with silver.’

Yoongi doesn’t say that it will still look like they’re trying to have the same style, because once again — what Jimin wants, Yoongi will kill to get.

It takes him ten minutes to do the majority of Yoongi’s hair. Yoongi spends the time looking at himself in the mirror and repeatedly questioning his life choices. It’s not like he is against hair dyeing, per se — he’s living with a guy who changes his hair color with every season, for fuck’s sake, and he’s also pretty sure Jungkook has been eyeing Taeyong’s collection for awhile now, so that’s something to look forward too. And it’s not like Jimin is a bad stylist — he’s determined and talented, and Yoongi might not know a lot about it, he’s sure it will look flawless when he’s done.

It’s just — he’s Min Yoongi, a terrifying killing force, and he’s sitting here like a little baby princess whose life purpose is to be dressed up and styled. Gods, he hopes Jimin won’t suddenly decide to do a makeover of his clothes. He won’t be able to fucking resist him. He looks at Jimin in the reflection. I fucking belong to you, eh? He sighs.

Jimin takes it as a sign of annoyance and chuckles, looking up. ‘I’m almost done, you buzzkill,’ he informs, walking around and standing in front of Yoongi. ‘I just have the front left.’

It’s not altogether comfortable because Yoongi is sitting too low, and crouching is not an option because there is a sink counter behind Jimin, so, naturally, he decides to send Yoongi’s brain into an overdrive.

Jimin takes a look at his surroundings, pouts his lips, and shrugs, after which he simply plumps down on Yoongi’s lap as if it’s something usual, as if it doesn’t make Yoongi almost lose his damn mind, as if his lap is the most comfortable sitting appliance Jimin had ever rested his ass on. Which is, suffice to say, great. A great ass. Jimin has a great ass. Yoongi is pretty sure his brain has left the building because there is precisely one thought in his brain as his eyes are fixed on Jimin’s cute nose.

‘Is it okay?’ Jimin asks innocently as he keeps working on Yoongi’s hair. He leans back, and Yoongi reflectively grips his waist to keep him from falling, leaving his fingers where they were even when Jimin is stable again.

‘Yeah,’ he croaks, trying to sound at least remotely okay. He’s failing, of course, but there isn’t a force in the Universe that can blame him.

Because here’s the thing — as he looks in Jimin’s eyes, he sees mischief and glee there, and he knows the little brat is doing it all on purpose — but to what end? They’re not meant to be together, and flirting like it’s their last day on earth isn’t going to fix the situation. Yoongi swore to protect Jimin from everything, and it includes Ares, so it’s hard to allow himself to entertain the thought of anything else. Jimin’s face is seemingly innocent, but there is sadness behind the beauty, and Yoongi doesn’t think he can be the one to cure it. He can only bring more.

‘Thanks,’ Jimin suddenly says, his eyes fixed on the strand he’s working on. ‘For being there for me today.’

Yoongi swallows and smiles a little.

‘Always welcome, Jiminnie.’

Jimin clicks his tongue and rolls his eyes, but he still can’t keep off a smile.

‘You and your nicknames,’ he murmurs.

‘It’s only one nickname.’ Yoongi shrugs and strokes his skin through his shirt. ‘You refuse all the others.’

They fall silent, and Yoongi regrets bringing it up.

‘It’s not like I don’t want to,’ Jimin says abruptly, not meeting his eyes. ‘I just don’t think I can.’

‘What, Jiminnie?’ Yoongi whispers. He already knows what he means but he needs to hear it.

Jimin stops what he’s doing and leans back to look at him.

‘Be your Aphrodite.’

So here they are — Ares and Not Aphrodite, looking at each other, both with their own demons lurking beneath their eyelids. Yoongi feels the sting of the dye and thinks — I knew this when I first met you.

He saw him sitting casually amongst criminals yet still being on guard, his hands gripping the couch even if he didn’t realize it. An anomaly — a bright spot on the otherwise black canvas. He looked so out of place that it seemed strange that he fit so well. Yoongi looked at him and knew — his beauty will be Yoongi’s undoing. He remembered him from somewhere but couldn’t understand what exactly it was that triggered the memory.

A frightened yet brave little fawn, only the love for his best friend holding him in place. The only thing missing was barren teeth that would reflect what he felt on the inside.

Yoongi felt him from the beginning. A missing piece sliding in place. His chase, in blood and gore, finally finding a companion.

He kept changing, Jimin. Going from hate to friendship, to screaming at him in tears and to clutching Yoongi as if his life depended on it. Yoongi couldn’t figure him out, and only now, when the plaguing curse is lifted from Jimin’s amazing mind, he sees it clearly.

He saw two people in his place, and he spent so long trying to bring them into focus that he missed something — a simple fact of Jimin being who he is and who he isn’t, both combining into one imperfect picture of Park Jimin — son, brother, lover. God. Of his own little bubble, the one that maybe didn’t have place for Yoongi or Ares, but had a little window he could look through. Because that is what Ares always did — he was allowed to look at Aphrodite yet never touch. He broke the rule, and his love was taken away from him. Yoongi never played by the rules. He squeezes Jimin’s waist tighter.

‘You can’t be mine, and you can never be anybody’s. But in all the years I’ve lived and fought in this world, Jiminnie,’ he says, his voice quiet and raspy. ‘You are the only person I’ve ever met who can be worthy to be called an Aphrodite.’

Jimin’s face is unreadable as he’s studying Yoongi’s, a brush clutched in his hand.

‘You don’t have to follow his path,’ Yoongi continues, suddenly sure of what he needs to say to Jimin for the first time in forever. ‘But I know that you will become him, one way or another. And I cannot wait for it. Even if I’m not there to witness it.’

Jimin blinks, breathing in. Yoongi breaks eye contact, having nothing else to say. He looks at Jimin’s collarbones again. A tattoo would look amazing there.

‘Well, then, if it is so,’ Jimin whispers, resuming his work. Yoongi feels his gentle touch on his skin. ‘I’d rather have you stick around and see to it.’

Yoongi chuckles and closes his eyes.

‘Also? I’m so taking your picture after this. I don’t care about your security bullshit, if I made Ares dye his hair blue, I’m fucking getting the evidence.’

Yeah. He’s in love with him alright.

 

VII

Tony swallows and grips the strap of his bag. This street is abandoned, but he’s still afraid that something will grab him from the shadows, that the sounds of the darkness will consume him and take him away. He shudders. Fuck. He shouldn’t have agreed to meet at night.

There are whispers of the night around him, getting into his head and making him see things that aren’t there. He blinks a few times, wishing he could, and at the same time afraid to see what’s in the dark.

Suddenly, everything goes quiet, as if preparing for attack, but the strike never comes — instead, a black car appears from the shadow, headlights off. It looks like a giant black monster, and Tony reminds himself that there are real people inside. He knows how to fight those.

The car stops before him, and the door opens, inviting him inside. He climbs in, shutting the door behind him, and looks at his companion. Well. More like in his general direction. There isn’t a light in the car, only all-consuming darkness.

‘Sup?’ He asks nervously. He could never figure out how to talk to this guy without feeling jittery.

There’s a sigh and a whisper of clothes.

‘Why did you need to meet?’ The man asks slowly, his voice quiet, draping over Tony’s shoulders like a soft dream. Or nightmare.

‘He didn’t take his dose today,’ he reports, feeling disgusted by himself but unable to stop now, when it reached the point of no return.

‘There has been a development,’ the man says. Tony thinks he has his hand over his lips. He’s distressed. ‘The potion won’t work anymore. You won’t be able to make him take it without him feeling it.’

Tony frowns, feeling hundreds of thoughts and emotions rushing through him. And one of them — relief.

‘Then it’s over?’ He asks, wary. ‘I don’t have to poison him anymore?’

‘I told you.’ Annoyed. Frightening. ‘It wasn’t poison.’

‘He looked awful today,’ Tony recalls. His skin, eyes, hair... Jimin was a mess. ‘Like he threw up all his intestines.’

The man moves, and the first flash of light appears, making Tony squint his eyes. It’s not purple like the potion he used to give to Jimin, but bright blue. It glows in the dark for some reason, and Tony gets to see the corner of the man’s face before he hides the vial in his hand. Sharp edges and glasses. Dark eyes.

‘Give it to him no matter what it takes,’ the man instructs, handing Tony the vial. ‘I’m tired of his antiques.’

‘But what did he do to you?’ Tony asks, suddenly desperate. He feels — remorseful, guilty, like an utter shit.

It started easily — Tony was approached and told that his father’s fate is in his hands. They would save him if he just did that one thing — befriended a lonely boy at the party.

One thing turned to two things, and before he knew it, he was slowly falling in love with the guy he was feeding potions to. He breathes it deeply.

‘He’s such a good man,’ he mumbles and repeats: ‘So what did he do to you to deserve this?’

The man stays silent, and Tony thinks it’s his cue to leave. He sighs and goes for the door, gripping the vial in his palm. He stops at the last moment, frowning and looking back. Holds up the potion.

‘What is this, at least?’

‘Now this, Tony,’ the man sighs deeply, his voice radiating content. ‘Is really poison.’

VII

Jungkook looks down and smiles.

Taehyung is sleeping, curled up with his face pressed to Jungkook’s thigh, his hands gripping the blanket. He’s beautiful.

It’s so strange, and yet it is not. They’ve been together for almost three months now, and it feels like they’ve been by each other’s side forever. It’s easy to love Taehyung — and it’s even easier for Kook to admit it to himself. He’s never been in love. He was always too busy breaking away from his father’s control and then his brother’s shadow. Amongst blood and fighting it is not that easy to find time for romance.

He knows others have managed it okay. Taeyong found Ten, and Yoongi... Well, Yoongi is still trying to find Jimin. It’s painful yet amusing to watch.

He remembers their talk a few weeks ago, when Taehyung was still just a boy that caught Hades’ eye, and Jimin — just a distant best friend Tae had talked about.

_‘I think, I—’ Jungkook clears his throat. It’s awkward. ‘I like him.’_

_Yoongi raises his eyebrows. His hair is ruffled because they’ve been in this so-called meeting for hours now. There’s a string of deals with Louis they needed to discuss, and now that it’s finally settled, they’re relaxing with a drink. Taeyong left to overlook the shipment, his eyes tired and limbs heavy. He tends to run himself into the ground, and Jungkook thinks he needs to force him to have some rest._

_‘You don’t say,’ Yoongi drawls out. ‘You’ve been talking about him nonstop, you know. It’s kinda obvious you took a liking.’_

_He sips from his glass and goes back to cleaning his gun._

_‘No, Yoon.’ Jungkook sighs in frustration and rubs his face. ‘I... I like-like him.’_

_Yoongi looks up, his gaze unreadable. After a few seconds of silence, he snorts but quickly composes himself._

_‘Kook, I once saw you scalp a guy with a peeling knife,’ he says slowly, as if explaining something to a little kid. ‘Don’t act like a ten year old with a crush. Just say you want to fuck him and go.’_

_Jungkook stands up, annoyance making him walk around rapidly, his hands in his pockets._

_‘But come on, Yoongi, I’m not ten, but I do have a crush.’ He turns to Yoongi who’s still working on his weapon with an unbothered face. ‘And it’s so strong I can barely go twenty minutes without thinking about him.’_

_Yoongi is motionless now, his eyes on his hands._

_‘Have you ever been in love?’ Jungkook asks softly, for the first time unsure in his words around Ares._

_The man himself presses his lips together and looks up._

_‘No,’ he says simply. He’s not sad — he’s stating a fact. ‘I don’t even think I ever had a crush. Well. Maybe on Hoseok when we first met but it went away the second I imagined sleeping with him.’_

_He shudders dramatically._

_‘He’s too much of a brother to me,’ he elaborates. ‘And he’s... simple for me. Too nice. I think I need a challenge, someone to get me moving, you know?’_

_Jungkook sighs, for a second forgetting about his own problem. Yoongi doesn’t seem to be extremely upset over never having a relationship._

_‘Are you ace?’ He suddenly asks, surprising even himself._

_Yoongi doesn’t react badly, though, just purses his lips in thought._

_‘I don’t think so,’ he says slowly. ‘I just think... I need a certain person. Someone really specific, you know?’_

_Jungkook knows. He nods and sighs._

_‘I wish I was at least aromantic,’ he murmurs and pouts again. ‘I’m tired of pining.’_

_Yoongi sighs and finally puts down the gun. Stands up and walks up to Kook, putting his hands on his shoulders and leaning forward so that their eyes are at the same level._

_‘Listen here.’ His voice is even and strong. ‘If you like him, then ask him out. Bring him here. Kiss him. Do anything you want. You’re Hades.’_

_Jungkook opens his mouth but Yoongi cuts him off, putting his hand on his lips._

_‘And I know what you’re gonna say,’ he scoffs. ‘Exactly, you’re Hades, it’s dangerous going out with you. But have you stopped to consider that it’s not up to you to decide? He’s a grown boy. He’s already hanging out with you, even when he knows his father would have a stroke if he knew. He’s meeting with you and talks about how soft your hair is. That’s pretty gay, man.’_

_He puts his hand away, but Jungkook stays silent for awhile. He turns it all over in his head, his imagination supplying him with the memories and images of Tae, his face and his voice. Jungkook pouts._

_‘He’s so gorgeous,’ he whines, and Yoongi snorts, bringing him closer and hugging him._

_‘I’m sure he is,’ he placates. ‘And if you decide to do this, I’m gonna do everything in my power to protect him and your relationship. I swear.’_

_It’s a show of how much they trust each other, and Jungkook is suddenly filled with gratitude to whatever fate brought Yoongi to him all those years ago. Apart from him and Taeyong, there isn’t a person who is allowed to see the mighty Hades like this — pathetically whining about his crush._

_‘You deserve to be happy, brother,’ Yoongi whispers. ‘And you will be.’_

He was right. Jungkook is happy now. There is a lot of shit going on with the gang, of course, and apparently someone has targeted Jimin out of all people, which just adds to the overall list of Underworld’s problems, but as he looks down at Taehyung’s face, he thinks — I’m happy.

‘I can feel you being giddy,’ Tae murmurs with his eyes still closed. ‘Spill.’

Jungkook scoots down to lie beside him, his nose brushing Tae’s cheek.

‘I love you,’ he says softly, holding his breath. It’s the first time.

Taehyung opens his eyes slowly, his pupils blown. He’s silent, his face unreadable, and only his eyes radiate joy.

‘I love you too,’ he whispers back after some time, a soft smile on his lips, his teeth peaking out, making an adorable picture. ‘And I think I always will.’

Jungkook closes his eyes and presses closer — to be near, to feel better, to never lose. He feels lips on his eyelids and smiles.

‘My Hades.’ It’s a gentle little whisper, and it carries so much meaning that something inside of Jungkook explodes, sending warmth to his limbs.

He wants to call him his Persephone. Their story had a better beginning yet it has such a same sense. Hades made Persephone the Ruler of the Underworld, and gave his lover everything he could — and nobody could ever harm the god of spring.

Jungkook will always protect him. Nobody will ever dare touch Taehyung, and not just because he’s Hades’ but because he has power himself — this invisible, subtle strength that shows everyone around him that he is the center. He is the main star, he is the prettiest flower, he is the universe.

‘Marry me.’

He doesn’t register it until it’s out but he isn’t afraid, and he doesn’t regret it. He opens his eyes to look at Taehyung, and it makes sense, it’s right, it feels like the most important thing in the world — to be with him always and in every sense.

‘I know we’ve been together for just a few weeks,’ he says, swallowing, suddenly nervous. ‘And you deserve a better proposal, maybe in a garden and with a bigass ring, and I swear I will do it all, but I just— I just needed to say it. I love you, and I always will, and I don’t think I’ll ever be complete without you by my side. I have a kingdom to rule over, but you—’ He takes a deep shuddering breath and grips Tae’s hands. ‘You’re everything.’

Taehyung is silent for a solid eighty seconds, and Jungkook knows this because he’s been counting the beats of the grandfather clock in the corner of his room. Finally, he swallows and opens his lips, yet nothing comes out. Jungkook blinks. Maybe, he fucked up.

‘You asked it wrong,’ he finally blurts out, his face flushed.

They both stare at each other, a strange silence over them.

‘What?’ Kook asks when it becomes too weird.

‘You’re supposed to say “Will you marry me?” and I’m supposed to say “Yes”, how do you expect me to answer when you say it wrong?!’ His voice is frantic and loud, and it’s somehow funny, but Jungkook just blinks rapidly, panic coming over him.

‘You’re saying yes?’ He asks just as loud, and they both sit up in a sudden wave of excited dizziness.

‘Well, I would if you asked it properly!’

Jungkook sputters and starts nodding rapidly, his hands flying around.

‘Okay, okay, okay,’ he murmurs and shoots up to go to his cabinet. ‘Then I’m doing _everything_ properly.’

Taehyung kneads the blanket around his waist as he watches Jungkook ruffle through the drawers. He swallows and fixes his hair. Why is he so nervous? Oh, right.

‘Here.’ Kook finally straightens up, clutching something in his hand.

He turns around and takes a step toward the bed — and falls down. On one knee. Taehyung giggles but immediately slaps a hand over his mouth.

‘Okay.’ Jungkook takes a deep breath and opens his palm.

It’s a ring, beautiful silver band, with blood-red stones encrusted in it, a delicate pattern in the metal. It looks like pomegranate seeds.

‘Kim Taehyung,’ Jungkook says, his voice full of emotion, and oh gods, Tae thinks he’s about to cry. ‘Will you marry me?’

Taehyung looks into his eyes and thinks about Jimin.

_It’s the second week of their confinement after the Kim incident, and Taehyung feels like he’s trapped._

_‘Will you stop pacing?’ Jimin calls out from where he’s sprawled out on the couch, nose deep in texting someone. Taehyung stops abruptly near the TV and turns to him, the light from the balcony window hitting his back._

_‘I feel like I’m a tiger in a cage,’ he says angrily._

_Jimin snorts. ‘More like a little cub,’ he murmurs mockingly, and Taehyung gasps, offended._

_‘I’m a tiger!’ He contradicts and crosses his hands on his chest. ‘Rrrr.’_

_Jimin falls off on the floor while laughing at him, and Taehyung smiles in victory._

_‘Just call your boyfriend and talk to him if you miss him,’ Jimin says breathlessly when he manages to stop wheezing and climbs back on the couch._

_Taehyung plumps down near him and allows himself to pout._

_‘He’s in a meeting,’ he grunts._

_When there’s no response, he looks up to see Jimin smiling like an idiot at his phone, completely unaware that his best friend is suffering._

_‘Jimin!’ He shouts, an offended expression on his face. ‘Pay attention to me! Who are you even texting, anyway?’_

_He finally gets his attention enough for him to lock his phone and look up with a dramatic sigh._

_‘Yoongi.’ He shrugs with one shoulder. ‘The meeting is going well, by the way. Jungkook just called Namjoon a dumbass, so everyone’s excited.’_

_Taehyung stares at him for a few seconds, his mind lost as he tries to decide which piece of that sentence to give attention to. Finally, he decides on the most important one._

_‘I’m proud of my baby,’ he says softly. Thinking about Jungkook standing up to his brother and showing that he’s the boss too makes him giddy._

_‘God, you’re so whipped,’ Jimin says, rolling his eyes. ‘How did I ever believe I can break you up?’_

_He snaps his mouth shut, and Taehyung frowns. It’s not like he didn’t know what Jimin wanted to do, but it’s still not the most exciting feeling._

_‘You don’t anymore?’ He asks, scooting closer and putting his chin on Chim’s shoulder._

_‘I don’t know what I believe anymore,’ Jimin responds, picking at his nails. ‘I’m texting Yoongi more than I do my boyfriend. Go figure.’_

_Tae wraps his hands around Jimin, sighing._

_‘I really like Jungkook, you know,’ he murmurs. ‘More than I thought I could ever like anyone.’_

_He feels Jimin’s hands on his, and they stay silent for a long time, each thinking about his own little assassin. Taehyung knows Jimin is conflicted but there is a reason he allows his relationship with Yoongi to go the way it does. He can figure it out himself. It’s the only way it can ever work, and well — Tae really wants it to work. Jimin deserves to be happy, and Yoongi is the one that can be happy with someone like Jimin. They’re both annoyingly difficult yet perfect for each other._

_Jimin’s phone chimes, and they both look down on the notification._

 

**_seokjin just told us that he couldn’t find a proper liaison between us, Poseidon, and Olympus. kook asked if he himself is gonna be the one, and jin said yes, so kook told him ‘ok tell your boss I want a new liaison then’. I think taemin choked trying not to laugh._ **

 

_They both laugh out loud, but then look at each other, cutting off abruptly._

_‘Wow, we’re really deep in this, huh?’ Jimin murmurs, a deep sigh leaving his lips._

_Taehyung thinks about their first conversation about the Underworld — Jimin didn’t believe his words about fate and belonging yet now he seems to feel it, no matter how much he fights it._

_‘I think I’m in love with Jungkook, Chim,’ Tae says softly, watching Jimin’s face carefully. The boy turns to him with a resigned look._

_‘I know.’ His voice is soft and even. ‘And I think it makes sense.’_

_‘How so?’ Tae tilts his head and rests it on the back of the couch._

_‘You seem so calm with him,’ Jimin explains, a faraway look in his eyes. ‘I’ve known you my entire life, Tae-Tae. Nobody could ever make that... that look disappear from your eyes. Your soul is ancient, and it was always so lonely, yet with him — it’s like you finally found what you were looking for. Like it now all makes sense.’_

_Taehyung stays silent, mulling it over. Jimin isn’t wrong yet he isn’t completely right._

_‘I wasn’t that lonely,’ he says softly. ‘I had you.’_

_Chim snorts softly and smiles._

_‘Yeah, but I’m more like a brother to you. I’m not enough.’ It seems like something more, something different, yet Tae knows when Jimin doesn’t want to talk about certain things — so he lets it go._

_‘You are, baby chick,’ he gently says, leaning forward. ‘But, maybe, you’re right. There’s something about him that...’ He thinks about dark eyes, hard hands, and soft skin. ‘Calls out to me.’_

_‘This is too soft for me.’ Jimin throws a hand over his eyes, but he’s smiling. ‘Get out with your genuine feelings.’_

_Taehyung laughs loudly and throws himself on Jimin to tackle him. It’s so easy and familiar — to act like they’re still ten, their whole lives ahead of them and not a problem in sight. Jimin wraps his arms around Taehyung and presses him closer, not allowing him to move and nuzzling into his hair._

_‘You deserve to be someone’s everything, baby,’ he murmurs. ‘And I think he’s the one who can see it. And who will mean it.’_

 

‘Yes.’

He blinks, his mouth dry. He said yes.

‘You said yes,’ Jungkook whispers in awe.

‘I said yes.’ Taehyung nods, sucking in his lips, trying to keep off a huge smile.

They’re motionless for about a second but then Jungkook shoots up and throws them both on the bed. Tae laughs like he’s free and in love — because he is, and he looks up to see the face of the man he loves above him, and it’s glorious.

‘I love you,’ he whispers again, this time allowing himself to hurt his cheek with smiling. ‘And I will always be yours, my Hades.’

↹

Persephone feels... Numb.

He’s laying on the bed of dried out petals. He’s not even strong enough to make them come to life again. He has his powers still, yet where is the point? Their beauty won’t bring him relief. Their aroma won’t breathe freedom into him. He cannot even fly. He cannot flee.

He can feel Hades lurking outside the room, hesitating before coming in. What is he afraid of? He took what he wanted and locked it up, so why doesn’t he come take a look at it? He is evil and vile, and such a tiny thing as Persephone’s distress shouldn’t bother him. Then why does it?

Persephone hears the wall crack when he enters. He doesn’t look up from where he’s curled up, crunched up leaves in his palms.

‘Go away,’ he pleads, his voice weak and hoarse. ‘Please.’

‘You should eat.’ His voice is too soft for the god of Hell, too gentle, and Persephone needs to hate him. Instead, he feels him. His distress, his guilt, and his longing.

He doesn’t have the right to feel it all. He does not. Hades is Hades. Persephone is Persephone. Their paths were never supposed to intertwine. He tricked the Fate, and he must pay.

‘And stay here forever?’ Persephone chuckles darkly. ‘I know how it works, Hades. I would rather go thin and weak than bind myself to this realm.’

Bind. He moves his wrists and sees black delicate chains appear in the air. He’s already imprisoned. He wants to cry, but it feels like too much of a courtesy to show Hades his tears.

‘Look at me, Persephone.’

He wants to disobey but the curiosity wins over. He’s stuck in here for the time being, might as well face his captor for the first time since he came here.

Hades’ beauty is undeniable yet dark. His eyes burn with something indescribable, his shoulders carrying the weight of thousands of dead souls. His hands are before him, a simple rose in them. It’s black and beautiful, but just like the god himself, the flower radiates darkness not understandable to a simple human. Persephone sees it. Feels it.

He stands up and walks over to him, standing right in front of the man he despises so much, and accepts the rose. He strokes the petals, not looking at Hades, and does something he never did — he crushes the flower in his palm, petals and stem, and he doesn’t care about the blood dripping down his arm from the thorns. He looks Hades right in the eyes. Bares his teeth.

‘I hate you,’ he seethes, and feels desperate and pained. ‘And I will never be yours.’

 

**PART I. ARES.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> come yell at me on [twitter ](https://twitter.com/romulusadhara)  
> [come yell at me as anon](https://curiouscat.me/romulusadhara)


	8. PART II. APHRODITE. chapter VIII. metanoia.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'shapes and shadows. but you’re always there.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [chapter moodboard](https://twitter.com/romulusadhara/status/1089242404996218881%20rel=)

_you don’t make it easy for me to stay or try to leave_

_I don’t take it easy_

_I don’t walk away if it’s killing me_

_if you’re bad odds then I’m a luck pusher_

↹

  
The freedom that Aphrodite feels inside of his soul seems tainted, covered in something rotten and black, alike to betrayal and heartbreak. He can’t seem to look up, his knees digging into the earth, his beautiful robes smudged with mud.

His fingers tremble as he wipes at his face, desperate to get rid of the tears that will not stop coming.

It is done. The spell is cast. Mnemosyne doesn’t remember anything about his love for Zeus. It is now in Aphrodite’s own soul, preserved in a vial, glowing gold. He can’t destroy it completely for it isn’t possible even for the god of love himself.

Love — the strongest feeling in the entire creation, never goes away. It travels, touching a soul after soul, finding new homes and vessels, and it always exists, never losing a drop of its precious essence. There are different faces to it, of course, dark and twisted, the one bred in the marriage of adoration and hate, life and death, perversion and beauty, yet there is one mask of loving that writes all the great stories of humanity and gods alike. Once the pure, untainted feeling of Love finds someone it feels is deserving, it roots itself into their heart and never leaves. It is a law.

And Aphrodite broke it.

It makes him feel undeserving of his own love for Ares. How can he look him in the eye? How can he touch his lips, knowing that his own are cursed now? He clutches the necklace Ares gave him what seems so long ago. The sword is cold in his palm.

He doesn’t remember how he got to his old home, but he looks up to see the tree where he once met with Ares — it seems now that it was centuries ago that he stood there, shaking and afraid, trembling before the god that took his heart. Aphrodite sobs, watching the setting sun and imagining his lover waiting anxiously for him at his own residence. He clutches his chest, wishing to rip out the poisoning essence out of his being.

He did it for them to be together. He took away someone’s love to preserve his own. Is it balance? Is it treachery? Is it egoism, the favorite trait of every god on Pantheon?

He thinks absently about Persephone. His friend is gone somewhere, and he only hopes he is in peace now when his Aphrodite is breaking down on the cold grass.

He takes a shaking breath, trying to calm himself, yet the tears keep falling. He puts a hand over his mouth, trying to contain his wails.

How can he face his beloved, both of them having fought the fates to be merciful to them, after he tried to trick them by committing the gravest crime he could ever imagine?

It dawns on him so suddenly that he stills, his sobs cutting off as he looks in the distance, his red eyes large.

_The Fates._

If someone can relieve his guilt and tell him that he did what was supposed to be done, it’s them. The Moirai, all-powerful entities of destiny.

He stands up on shaking legs, supporting himself by leaning on the nearest tree. Takes a deep breath, regaining himself, his trembling form shaking in tune with the breeze.

“A-Atropos?” He croaks out, his throat raw.

He knows The Moirai rarely leave their island, but he is in good relation with them, and his weakened body barely has enough energy to stand, let alone travel so far.

His hopes aren’t in vain — when he opens his heavy eyelids, he sees Atropos standing in front of him, his black robes hugging his form, the ropes wrapped around his wrists in the form of black bracelets, a pair of silver scissors on his lapel, his face grim under the fair hair.

“Aphrodite,” he says gravely, and something inside of Aphrodite breaks. Atropos does not sound like someone who came here to forgive.

"Atropos." He bows his trembling head, swallowing the bile in his throat. "You are aware of why I have called upon you."

"Indeed," Atropos drawls. Aphrodite is afraid to look him in the eye, but he feels the Moira come closer, his bare feet pale against the dark earth. “You have done something terrible, my friend."

Aphrodite sobs but cuts himself off. He falls to his knees and feels Atropos’ robes with his forehead. They feel cold and unforgiving.

"I feel so much remorse and pain," he confesses. He feels Atropos’ hand in his hair, and it takes away some of the suffering, yet doesn’t loosen the guilt. "I beg of you — tell me it was supposed to happen. Tell me I was your moving hand."

There’s silence, and with every passing second that he doesn’t hear Moira’s voice, his heart breaks evermore. Finally, Atropos sighs and tugs at his hair to make him look up.

"The threads of fate have been anxious lately," he starts, his eyes dark and deep. Aphrodite feels lost in them, the pit drawing him inside. "Something happened, it... Multiplied them. It never occurred before."

Aphrodite frowns and swallows, trying to understand what Atropos is saying. Multiple fates? Is it even possible? For all his life, he existed by the knowledge that everything is predetermined and destined, and by trying to change the fate you will not achieve anything but a great loss. It always comes back to where it started.

Atropos sighs.

"We did not have enough time to study them," he says quietly, looking at the distance. Something in his voice makes Aphrodite wonder if their friendship is really what moved Atropos to leave his post. "Because barely an hour ago, they... They all burned down."

He gasps, unable to contain his horror, and leans back to look at Atropos’ face better. His skin is ashen, his veins blackening against it, and he looks like someone who... Someone who lost their purpose.

"What?" Aphrodite asks, his throat raw. The rain is gathering at the edge of the sky. He wonders if those are tears or someone’s tantrum.

Atropos looks down at him again, his lips grey and shaking.

"The threads of fate are gone, Aphrodite." His voice is hollow and paralyzing. "You did something far graver than just taking away someone’s love."

He walks around Aphrodite, leaving him on his knees and watching the place Atropos’ feet were just mere seconds ago. The ground is smoldering.

"One thread survived," Atropos says. The wind is picking up. Aphrodite feels cold. "But we cannot measure it nor cut it. Something is coming on its end."

Aphrodite gets up on trembling legs, turning around and looking at Atropos’ back. The rain starts hitting the trees, leaves rustling and turning brown. It is wrong. Where is Persephone? Where is Demeter?

"What is coming?" He asks, desperate to get at least one answer. "Atropos?"

The Moira turns around and blinks slowly. There is a sad smile on his lips.

" _Jimin_ , they will call you," he whispers, his eyes becoming milky and blind. "And you will be their undoing."

And with that — he is gone. Aphrodite feels panic rise in him, a terrified and cornered beast of his soul screaming out in pain.

He feels someone behind him, but he doesn’t get to turn around. The world goes black — and his last thought is about his poor Ares, waiting for him somewhere far away, never to meet his love again.

VIII

  
Jimin comes to him at precisely 5:13. Yoongi knows because he’s been staring at his watch, remembering when the hands showed this time only — never moving, never wavering, drawing his gaze to them twice a day at this exact hour. Waiting. Waiting until they finally tick, starting the countdown of his real fate.

He’s been going over the reports from his guards when he noticed the time and looked down at his wrist. Seconds ticking away, showing him how the time passes while he’s sitting on the couch of the boy he’s protecting. It’s quiet, only his breathing sometimes audible, and when the seconds hand moves into a straight ‘twelve’ line, Jimin opens the door from his room and stands in the doorway, his comforter wrapped around his trembling shoulders, his wild blue hair around his face in bright strands. He looks angelic, yet his eyes are tired and pleading. Yoongi looks up at him, his breath hitched. He’s beautiful. He’s tragic.

They don’t say a word. Jimin just stands there, his lips trembling but never uttering a sound. Yoongi is still, feeling like a predator before a scared doe, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. He never wants to devour him — he wants to walk alongside him, his paws softly stepping beside the hooves, always on guard, always protecting.

His jacket stays on the couch when he stands up and comes over to him. Jimin steps back into the room and waits for him to enter before closing the door with a soft click and coming back to bed, lying down soundlessly, leaving enough space for Yoongi to join him.

Yoongi wants to sigh and refuse but he came inside with a purpose, and so he takes a step toward the bed and lowers himself near Jimin, leaving him enough space to stay inside his own bubble.

He lies on his back, staring at the ceiling, thinking that they’re so close yet so far away — when he feels a comforter being thrown over him and a soft hand on his chest, small body fitting itself alongside the lines of Yoongi’s frame. He closes his eyes and takes a breath. Turns on his side to hug Jimin close and hide the boy’s face in the crook of his neck. His soft breaths gushing over Yoongi’s skin, he feels finally calm. Jimin makes a soft sound and presses even closer. His tense body, the pressure and stress that Yoongi saw in the creases of his frame when he opened the door, finally relax.

"What do you dream of?" Yoongi whispers, closing his eyes briefly to try and attune to Jimin’s thoughts and emotions. The boy takes a shuddering breath and presses closer.

"I never remember," he confesses in a weak voice, his fingers trembling. Yoongi puts his hand over them and squeezes. "Shapes and shadows. But you’re always there. You save me, every time."

Yoongi stays silent, feeling every piece of his resolve crumbling under the wave of deep, unsaturated affection. He closes his eyes and listens to Jimin breathing. It takes him a mere minute to fall asleep, and Yoongi strokes his back through his shirt in a silent promise — _I’ll always chase away your nightmares._

VIII

  
He wakes up slowly, taking his time to revel in such a rare deep sense of being content. His body feels well-rested, no ache in his limbs for the first time in forever, and he sighs happily, enjoying the sun playing on his skin. It smells nice. Jimin presses his face into the pillow, inhaling and smiling. Magnolias and roses. An amazing combination.

He blinks slowly, remembering something.

The bed is empty, no sign of his nightmare cure, and Jimin feels scared. It was one thing to come to Yoongi under the disguise of the night, but now, in the daylight, he feels mortified by his own actions. Didn’t he promise himself to stay away? To quit feeling shit for Yoongi come morning? He swallows, closing his eyes again. How will he face him now? How is he supposed to act cold towards him when he spent the better part of the morning in his arms?

He feels something blooming inside of him, and it is as fascinating as it is terrifying.

Yoongi gets him. Somehow, just after a handful of days they spent together, Yoongi already feels in sync with him. Jimin is curious about him, but his mind has been such a mess lately that he cannot distinguish the nature of his fascination. He wants to know him, fully, yet is he prepared for what he will discover in _himself_ if he knows the man behind the Ares mask? Every time they talk, he feels more and more drawn in, as if he’s trying to get close to a fire, trying to know if it will warm him or just burn him up.

He tries to allow the treacherous thought inside his mind — does he like Yoongi? As someone more than just a man who volunteered to protect him? Is he even able to feel something for a man he barely knows?

He thinks about Tony. Being with him feels safe, but not in the way that makes him believe he’ll be protected, but in a way that it’s familiar. He doesn’t have to think twice when it comes to Tony, and he fears that breaking away from that familiarity will rattle him to a point he won’t be able to recover. He’s used to him. And maybe that is why he can no longer feel attached to him.

Yoongi makes him feel safe because he isn’t afraid to speak his mind and knows he'll be heard. Yoongi asks the right question and gives the right answers. It almost seems fake but only because Jimin isn’t used to it being so easy — to feel fond, to get close. Their… relationship is moving at the speed of light, and he just...

_He just really wants to know._

He moves to retreat his phone on the nightstand, but something stops him. There’s a single sunflower, resting in a glass vase. Jimin blinks a few times, takes a deep breath, and wraps his palm around his necklace. He waits until his face is buried in the pillow again to burst in giggles. It feels so warm, so nice, so pleasant. He fears he is about to burst, and it reminds him that he has no right nor opportunity to feel like this. Yoongi was just caring for his own assignment after a rough night. There is nothing more to it, and even if there is — can he allow himself to think about it?

He turns on his back and sees flashing lights.

_You don’t have to go back._

_But he’ll be waiting._

No.

Not now.

He sits up abruptly and gives some time for the blood rushing to his head pass.

Chasing away the good dreams seems even harder than the bad ones. He doesn’t remember what he saw, he almost never does, but he knows he was happy.

It takes him another five minutes to drag himself out of his slumbered state and go to the bathroom.

His face looks pale but not more so than usual. The gold in his eyes is completely gone now, and he wonders if it all really happened. He was cursed. Someone cast a spell on him to make him feel things that didn’t have any place in his mind.

What part of what he felt was real? What was only brought out by the curse? How does he find that out?

He takes his time in the shower, justifying it by the need to put the product in his hair to preserve the color. The blue seems to have taken well, and he smiles a little, remembering that Yoongi has almost the same color. God, what was he thinking? Of course, Jimin’s is blue with silver while Yoongi is silver with blue, but it still sounds like a kindergartener’s excuse.

He needs to sort himself out.

He needs to devoid his soul of any emotions and face Yoongi as if they just met.

_Third time’s a charm._

He blinks, staring at himself in the mirror. He has no idea where that thought came from, and what it meant, but it feels like a revelation. He takes a deep breath and dresses himself.

When he softly opens the door to the living room, there is a pleasant smell of bacon. He smiles to himself, looking up and to the kitchen, where Yoongi is at the stove, humming softly to himself while he’s cooking. His gun is on the kitchen counter, next to the kitchen knife and wooden pad.

He looks so domestic it’s hard to imagine him murdering someone. Jimin could get used to this — seeing him this way, unguarded and soft. Should he?

He walks up to the kitchen, clearing his throat. Yoongi looks up, his face puffy, and it makes something scream inside of Jimin’s soul.

"Morning." The corners of Yoongi’s lips turn up a little, and it’s enough.

“Hey,” Jimin says softly, inhaling. “Smells nice.”

Yoongi nods to himself and stirs the omelet.

"You didn’t have a lot of food, and I couldn’t afford to leave you for a grocery run, so I made do," he murmurs, almost shy, and Jimin honestly hates him a little.

"Yeah, I was planning on going shopping today," he explains. "We could go together?"

It’s not like he has any choice, with Yoongi being glued to his side by duty, but it’s comforting to have at least a resemblance of free will.

"Sure," Yoongi agrees and looks up. "How are you feeling?"

Jimin takes a deep breath, analyzing his state. It feels wrong to lie to him just to avoid making him worried, and it’s new. He swallows heavily.

"Good." He nods to himself and meets Yoongi’s eyes. "Better than yesterday. My eyes don’t glow, at least."

Yoongi is motionless, and for some panicked moment Jimin thinks that he _was_ dreaming, and there was no curse — just his inflated mind supplying him with more nightmares. But then, Yoongi sighs and goes back to the pan. "I’d still like for you to visit Jungwoo for a checkup."

His voice is quiet yet stable, and it feels just like his presence.

Jimin searches his soul for at least a trace of resentment and annoyance he used to feel no matter how much he liked interacting with Yoongi. Before, there was always a nagging feeling at the back of his mind warning him that he can’t play house with Ares, that he should run away and hide, or kill him whenever he sees an opportunity.

But now, there’s nothing. Just curiosity.

"Hey, I was thinking," he starts, chewing on his lips.

"Damn, I’m sorry, did it give you a headache?" Yoongi chuckles dryly, and Jimin throws a piece of tomato from the kitchen counter at him.

"Shut up, I’m smart." He snorts. Yoongi smiles shyly, proud of himself, and Jimin rolls his eyes.

"Anyway. We kinda got off on the wrong foot." He sighs and purses his lips. "I don’t know what moved me to treat you the way I did, maybe the inability to see you as someone apart from a person who was helping to hog my friend, or the— The curse. But still, you didn’t deserve that."

Yoongi turns off the stove and takes the pan to the counter, putting the food on the plates. He’s working slowly and methodically.

"I don’t blame you, Jiminnie," he says simply, evenly. "And I’m not looking for your apology. You did what you had to do. And I, in turn, did what I had to do. It’s okay."

Jimin sighs in frustration and comes closer into his personal space, careful of the hot pan in his hands. Up close, it’s obvious he didn’t sleep well. Probably couldn’t afford to. He purses his lips as he looks up at Jimin. They’re almost the same height, he notes for the hundredth time, but this time his hair doesn’t make Jimin’s inner stylist cringe. It’s shining softly in the sunlight, and it’s beautiful. He’s beautiful.

"I want to start over," he blurts out, blinking rapidly. Yoongi raises his eyebrows. "Leaving all the reservations behind. I’m Jimin, the friend of your boss’s lover."

Yoongi regards him with his eyes squinted. He carefully puts the pan back on the stove and crosses his arms on his chest. Only now does Jimin notice that he’s wearing a black short-sleeve, and his arm tattoos are blackening against the tanned skin. He’s never seen them fully before, just the tips of them peeking out from the sleeves. There are words and symbols, vines and threads, seemingly unconnected, but he’s sure that he can find a pattern if he looks close enough. The one most fascinating to him is a giant bird on his right forearm, frozen mid-flight, its beak open in a silent scream. He sees wings wrap protectively over something, but it’s on the other side of Yoongi’s hand, so Jimin can’t see what it is.

He makes himself look away and up at Yoongi’s face. The bitch is smirking, and Jimin realizes that his not-so-subtle staring was noticed. He schools his face expression into a somewhat stone one.

"Jungkook is not just my boss, Jimin," Yoongi starts, worrying his lip. "He’s my brother, and you need to remember that to know where my priorities lie, no matter... No matter what my personal feelings are."

His look is hard, and Jimin knows what it means. The promise he made when he first came to the Underworld. If something ever happens to Taehyung because of his boyfriend, Jimin will stop at nothing to bring the entire organization down. He blinks. His feelings towards the inhabitants of the hotel might have changed, yet his resolve hasn’t. His only true priority there is Taehyung, and if he ever wishes to avenge him, he will have to go against Ares.

Seems fair.

"And," Yoongi continues, his head tilted. There’s a tattoo on his chest, its sharp edges extending onto the neck. "I don’t wish to start over."

Jimin frowns and opens his mouth, ready to argue, but one twitch of Yoongi’s chin shuts him up. He should probably analyze it.

"Because it took me really long to finally see _you_ behind the mask of what you try to appear," he whispers, looking away. "And what I perceived you to be."

Jimin sighs, hanging his head. It seems nice to hear it, and it feels like he’s supposed to be relieved, but something still doesn’t sit right with him. He swallows.

"Well, then it’s only me," he murmurs. "I’ll have to get to know you again. Because I don’t, Yoongi, I have no idea who you are apart from the guy who monitored my every step while I was under the influence of god knows what."

He looks up in time to see Yoongi’s hurt face turn stone cold again. He wants to reach out, apologize, do anything, yet he cannot, so he stays put, his palms hugging his elbows.

"I’m sorry," he whispers. "I have to do this for myself. I need to see what you are to me when I’m no longer walking around with that shit inside my brain."

It’s hard to say it, but it’s what has to be done. He does not wish to deceive Yoongi nor himself any longer.

"Well," Yoongi chuckles. "It’s not like something I could say will change your mind, so... You’re stubborn as all hell, Jiminie."

They both smile, and Jimin nods to himself, feeling the bursting bubbles of excitement in his soul. He sits down at the counter, digging into his breakfast. Yoongi snorts and sits across from him, slowly eating his own.

"So how do you want to do this?" He wonders at some point, his brow furrowed. "I mean, it’s not like you can erase all memories of me and then get to know me again."

Wouldn’t that be convenient. Jimin chuckles to himself.

"I guess I’ll just stop acting like you owe me shit." He shrugs with one shoulder, remembering all the things he said to Yoongi on the phone a few days back. "And I want to be your friend. Not just a bitch you’re guarding because you were told to."

Yoongi raises his eyebrows and smiles. The toaster signals that the bread is ready, and he stands up, taking it out and cutting off the crusts to make sandwiches. Jimin almost drools at the sight of it. Yoongi turns on the kettle and puts out two cups.

"Okay." Yoongi nods while working. "I think it’s gonna be productive. I keep holding back around you, and I don’t know why. But if you really want to know who I really am, then well." The knife in his hand freezes, and he looks down on his knuckles. They’re scraped but almost healed over, and Jimin wonders when was the last time he did something he enjoyed in his line of work. Like beating someone’s skull in. He almost shudders but holds himself off.

"You’ll see, Jiminie. Now eat."

Jimin does just that obediently, watching on as Yoongi makes tea for Jimin and coffee for himself. He remembers that Yoongi takes it without sugar but with milk. He also takes a little sniff before drinking any beverage. It’s endearing.

Yoongi is, in fact, endearing as all hell. Jimin doesn’t know what to do with that. He wanted to know, didn’t he?

“Taeyong told me about the things you said when you saw him,” Yoongi says as if an afterthought, but he can see how tense his shoulders are. He’s been probably waiting to bring it up since Jimin woke up. He stills, recalling the fevered and shattered state of his mind.

_”Kill me?”_

_“No. Kill myself.”_

He closes his eyes for a second, suddenly not knowing what to do with his hands. He remembers the early morning when he asked for Yoongi, and how it felt like for the first time in forever, he was safe — from the world and from himself.

“Yoongi, I don’t—” He stutters, the words stuck in his mouth. It’s not a lie, but sometimes it feels like one. “I don’t want to take my life. But sometimes I wish I was never given it.”

There. He said it. It rings in the air, and he feels his chin tremble, but he won’t cry, no.

“It’s like that thing we talked about last night. About the way I keep fucking up,” he breathes out. “I wonder what I did in the past life that I’m forced to live through all this shit, do all these things that hurt people, and survive. Why can’t I fucking sleep? Why do I feel like my boyfriend is suffocating me? Why doesn’t my father remember I’m his son anymore?”

Yoongi looks up, his lips moving, but there’s no sound.

“I visited him a few weeks ago,” he confesses. “After the incident. He’s happy there, but he isn’t…” He grits his teeth, taking his breathing under control. “But he’s almost the way he was when I stayed with him last summer. Thinks of me as one of the nurses.”

He pokes his food with his fork, but the appetite is gone. Yoongi looks out the window, his gaze distant.

“Just…” He purses his lips and starts again, “Life isn’t just about being everyone’s good little something. Sometimes, you fuck up. Other times — you don’t.” He puts his palms together, tracing the lines on them. “But you bring happiness to people, you know? You make someone smile, Jiminie, and that means you have worth. That you deserve to go forward.”

Jimin watches him, admiring the way his profile looks in the morning sun. He smiles.

“You’re so philosophical all of a sudden,” he jokes, trying to stir away from the topic because it feels too raw, too close, too soon.

“What can I say, I’m a smartass,” Yoongi says, turning to him and making that not-smiling face of his. “And you’re a badass.”

“Wow, you’re better than my therapist,” Jimin chuckles, and with that — it’s okay again.

“Alright,” Yoongi says, putting the plate with sandwiches before him. "Do you have any plans for today?"

Jimin shrugs, propping his chin with his hands. The sun is hitting Yoongi’s back, illuminating his blue hair.

"Well, like I said, Tae and I were supposed to go grocery shopping, and maybe pick out some new clothes." They even wanted to swing by the hairdresser, but he guesses that’s pointless now. "And I have some homework, however anticlimactic that feels."

"I’ll go with you, then, like we agreed, if you don’t mind being seen with me," Yoongi offers, blinking a little too fast.

"Wait, you agreed way too easily. I thought _you_ didn’t want us to be seen together." Jimin frowns and leans back. "Because Kim is probably watching me and shit."

Yoongi takes a deep breath and intertwines his fingers before him on the table. Oh, some serious shit is coming. Jimin wiggles in his seat, eager to hear some new information.

"I meant to tell you yesterday, but shit got in the way," Yoongi starts, jerking his chin when remembering the whole magic ordeal. "Kook and I talked about the ways we could handle this without eliminating Kim altogether. Changkyun has been watching you, and seemingly, there’s no tail on you apart from him."

Jimin raises his eyebrows in surprise, smiling.

"That’s good, isn’t it?" Yoongi’s face doesn’t look like it, but the boy is allowed to hope.

Yoongi sighs.

"Changkyun is paranoid as fuck, but he’s a professional. The fact that he didn’t notice anyone watching you means there is definitely someone watching you."

Jimin blinks, feeling his brain halt.

“Excuse me now?” He asks, frowning.

Yoongi bites his lower lip as he’s thinking, and Jimin waits patiently for him to explain what the fuck is happening.

“There is a certain system to this city,” Yoongi starts, and Jimin tilts his head to the side, curious. “Everyone is being watched. There are eyes everywhere, looking, recording, knowing. And it’s not only our people, it’s everyone. Even the civilians do this without noticing. Changkyun’s been running a little experiment, talking to people, and you can do it to see the pattern. Ask them about the guy who they saw two weeks at the grocery shop — and they’ll tell you that tonight he’s banging someone at the Triple H. But ask them about you — and they won’t even remember where they last saw you.”

Jimin leans back in his chair, mulling it over.

“You mean I’m invisible?” He muses, somehow too calm about the fact that he apparently is in a vacuum of human interaction.

“Not per se,” Yoongi answers, shaking his head. “It’s like you’re outside the picture? People know you, and talk to you, and remember you, but they don’t feel you like they do the others. It’s like… Like you were never supposed to be in this city because someone simply forgot to put you in the script.”

He’s right, it feels. Jimin never felt like he belonged here, but he also never wanted to get away. Everything that happened to him seems like polaroids, slots on the film, and he’s just there to observe it all, sitting back in his not-that-comfortable broken chair and waiting for the culmination that never comes.

He remembers thinking that he doesn’t care what the Underworlders do to people because he doesn’t care _about_ those people. They never did him any good, and it was hard to feel compassion to someone that means nothing to him.

He thinks about his father. _That_ was real. His scar is real. He touches it through the shirt to remind himself that it exists, and he didn’t dream almost dying at his parent’s hand.

“It’s so strange,” he murmurs, looking down at his breakfast.

“I know.” Yoongi sighs.

He thinks about his father’s pale face behind the glass, and he remembers those foggy images of Mom taking him to visit Dad in the sanatorium he went to every summer, and then — having to do it himself, nobody to look after him apart from Taehyung’s dad. It’s hard to think about that time, memories stained with pain and darkness, but he remembers evening walks and fresh air, and doctors telling him that his Papa will be okay as long as he stays on his meds, and feeling happy and believing he can do it, thinking that Mom would be proud of him, trying to remember her gentle face but only getting blurry memories in return. He doesn’t even remember when she disappeared, leaving their lives so abruptly and cruelly, allowing the afterlife to take her soul, but he remembers crying in a dark room with red curtains. He remembers father staring at the distance, telling him he will have to be on his own now, but one day he will rise to his true fate — another delusion of his, the product of him taking too many pills to handle the passing of his wife, and Jimin remembers touching his mom’s hand for the very last time and thinking that it seems too warm. There was a boy who took him away from her to save him from more pain. He said to close his eyes and believe that this is just a dream, and when he wakes up — he will be fine. When Jimin opened his eyes, he was alone in his room, and it truly seemed like a dream.

He blinks the tears away.

"Anyway,” Yoongi says, noticing that Jimin is disappearing into his mind again. “We concluded that something about you is different from Taehyung. You’re safe to be seen with."

Jimin feels his eyebrows fly up.

"Really? But Kim knows I’m his best friend."

"Let’s consider this an experiment." Yoongi shrugs. Something about him says that he isn’t particularly happy with this decision, but he’s still sticking with it. "I will protect you."

Jimin feels a smile tugging at his lips. It feels nice. Before, he got annoyed every time he was reminded about his “guards” but now he’s curious and excited, and it feels like an adventure.

"Besides, there’s still the case of someone-who’s-not-Kim targeting you," Yoongi adds. "I trust my boys, but I’d feel calmer if I were the one there to monitor your surroundings."

Jimin cackles suddenly and claps his hands.

"You’re like Ryuk!" He exclaims happily, and Yoongi is a bit taken aback. "My own personal god of death."

Yoongi rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling.

"Sure," he snorts. "Now eat your breakfast, you fetus assassin."

VIII

  
Jimin announces that he’s going to go put “his best face” on, and while Yoongi sees no point in trying to improve something that is already perfect, he decides that saying that out loud can earn him a smack on the head and goes out on the balcony to have a smoke and make a call.

Seungcheol takes one annoying beep to answer his call, and Yoongi snorts at the image of the man appearing with his face creased with the keyboard prints.

“Did you fall asleep at the desk again?” He wonders, taking a drag.

Aether rolls his eyes and rubs his face.

“I took a power nap, fuck off.”

For as long as Yoongi has known Aether and his crew, he's never witnessed the man away from his desk. He’s always working, always watching, always monitoring, and if not for the team that would take a bullet for him taking care of his workaholic ass, he would be burned out by now. As if feeling his thoughts, Jeonghan appears behind Seungcheol with a cup, aggressively putting it before the leader and staring him down.

“Drink. It’s soup,” he informs him and leaves, waving at the camera as an afterthought. “‘Sup, Ares, hope you’re well.”

“Thanks, babe,” Seungcheol yells after him, and Yoongi hears Jeonghan’s annoyed murmur. Aether turns back to the camera with a sad look. “And they said marrying your partner in crime would be romantic.”

Yoongi can’t help but laugh as he takes a drag. He will never get tired of criminals looking like characters from some shitty 70’s sitcom.

“Anyway, to business.” He takes a sip of his soup and scrunches up his face at how hot it is. “We hacked the phone Orpheus brought us, and there’s nothing but one phone number. Kim’s precinct. We pulled the phone records, but he made exactly one call, and nobody picked up.”

Yoongi frowns. Taeyong told him about the prisoner’s resolve and supposed alliance, but it seems strange that he was sent on such a dumb assignment with a brand new phone and without backup.

“Weird as fuck, but I’ll tell Taeyong, thank you.” Yoongi sighs. “I actually called about something else.”

Just as he says that, there’s a loud bang behind Seungcheol, and Yoongi tenses immediately. Aether jerks away just in time — a huge piece of metal flies right where his head was just seconds ago, but Yoongi doesn’t have time for dark guesses — he hears Jun yell something in Chinese, followed by the whole team’s laughter. Annoyed Jeonghan appears on the screen, making sure Seungcheol is okay.

“Sorry,” Jeonghan smiles apologetically. “We’re doing some renovations. You should come by, check it out.”

“I’ll try,” Yoongi inhales, his muscles relaxing. He already started planning how he’ll get to the Seventeen headquarters to help them with whoever is attacking them.

Jeonghan leaves again with a smile, and Seungcheol appears again, pouting.

“Sure, he’s nice to _you_ ,” he complains, and Yoongi snorts.

“Thankfully, I know better than to annoy him.” He shrugs. “Ok, so about that reason I called. You know about this little secret project I’m doing?” Seungcheol snorts and presses a few keys before turning the camera at the screen. Yoongi sees a few pictures of Jimin and Tony before the apartment complex, and then Jimin and Yoongi on the balcony. They’re all taken from the surveillance cameras across the street.

“You call that secret?” Seungcheol’s voice is smug. Yoongi rolls his eyes.

“You could just say that you know.”

The camera turns back to Aether, and he looks at the camera with his signature “I know _everything_ ” look. Yoongi wants to punch him, but with affection.

“I just need to know if someone else has access to those cameras.” Yoongi puts his cigarette out and licks his lips. “If someone apart from you tried to hack them.”

“Impossible.” Seungcheol takes a sip of his soup. “Those were installed by my team, under Hades’ orders.”

Yoongi raises his eyebrows. He knew Jungkook asked Seventeen to keep an eye on Taehyung, but he didn’t know they went to such extremes.

“Alright,” he drawls. “Then, there is no way someone can tap into them?”

“Absolutely.” Seungcheol nods and takes something off camera.

Yoongi hears Jihoon says something quietly, and Aether sighs. “Take care of it, then. Tell Vernon to pull some strings at the court, that bitch can’t walk.”

“Is everything okay?” Yoongi wonders. He knows Seungcheol has a lot of enemies, politicians and criminals alike, so he is more than willing to help out Underworld’s valuable asset.

Seungcheol looks back at the camera and frowns.

“One of our snitches suddenly turned.” He shrugs with one shoulder as if shaking off something unpleasant. “Almost blew Vernon’s cover.”

Vernon is a defense attorney, and one of the Seventeen’s who works on the outside. He’s helped everyone in the city get their people off more times than they can count, and losing his position would mean trouble for their whole lot. Bribing someone in their justice system isn’t that hard, but some people seem to have rather twisted righteous minds, and it would take months to regain the system Vernon provides them with.

“And before you ask, it wasn’t one of those Yago cases Hades told me about.”

Yoongi purses his lips. If Jungkook told him about it, it means that Aether passed his evaluation, and Yoongi can expect to see him at a meeting soon.

“I could still take care of him,” he proposes. Seungcheol smiles.

“I don’t doubt it. But we need to wait a few months before we can take him out in jail.”

Yoongi nods. That seems fair.

“Sorry for getting distracted again.” Seungcheol flinches. “This place can be a mess. Anyway, as I was saying, there is absolutely no way that someone can tap into my cameras. And even if someone does, I will know immediately.”

Yoongi takes a deep breath, nodding. It doesn’t calm him down completely, but at least he knows he can rely on Seungcheol.

“As for the cameras around the university,” Aether says meanwhile. “There are about four points of someone watching. One is us, two are Kim and someone else inside the precinct, and the fourth is the Olympus. Which is, you know, not surprising.” Seungcheol raises his eyebrows while taking a sip of his soup. They both know who’s watching from the Olympus. “I can’t cut _him_ off, but I can black the police’s screens.”

“Don’t,” Yoongi murmurs, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “Then they’ll know we’re trying to hide something.”

“Aren’t you?” Jeonghan appears again to take Seungcheol’s cup away. He straightens his husband’s hair, and Yoongi doesn’t think he even notices doing that. “I mean, sooner or later Hades’ boy will become public knowledge. There’s already rumors.”

Yoongi sighs, rubbing his face. That is what he was afraid of. If Jeonghan says people are talking, it means they’ve been doing that for some time.

“Our main concern right now is for Kim not to know.” He sighs. “He knows Hades has someone, but he doesn’t know _who_ that is exactly.”

“Neither do the lowest levels.” Jeonghan shrugs. “We only know because we’re watching, but nobody will utter a word outside the team if they want their limbs attached to their bodies, I assure you of that.”

Yoongi sees Minghao in the background look at him with respect and fear, and Seungcheol looks like he’s about to propose to him again. Yoongi snorts.

“I appreciate your loyalty to the Underworld when you don’t really align with it,” he smiles, bowing his head slightly in the sign of respect.

“We’re loyal to Hades,” Seungcheol clarifies. “And what he did for this city back in the day.”

Yoongi smiles wider. Jeonghan pats Aether’s shoulder.

“Besides, I can’t stand Mnemosyne.” He shrugs and kisses Seungcheol’s temple. “That bitch keeps encrypting the manor, I’m tired of having to hack it all the time.” Seungcheol laughs as his husband leaves.

Just as Yoongi is getting ready to say his goodbyes, the door opens, and Jimin’s head pops up.

“I’m ready, you demon!”

Yoongi looks him over, dissatisfied at only his head and hand visible. He styled his hair and put some makeup on, his puffy eyes highlighted by light pink eyeshadow. His fingers are covered in rings, and Yoongi notices the friendship bracelet on his wrist. Jimin sees that he’s talking to someone and bites his lip.

“Am I interrupting?” He wonders quietly.

“Is that _him_?” It’s a loud screech, and Jeonghan gets back into view in seconds. “Can I say hi?”

Jimin raises his eyebrows and comes in fully, effortlessly taking Yoongi’s breath away. He’s wearing a simple white t-shirt and black skinnies, but his jacket is the one Yoongi gave him. His sword necklace is visible over the shirt, and when he sits down, Yoongi feels his smell and almost passes out.

“Uhm, hi?” Jimin waves his hand shyly at the camera, and Jeonghan emits an honest to god squeal. Jimin laughs and covers his mouth. “I’m Jimin, I guess?”

“Gosh, he’s so cute,” Jeonghan breathes out. “Hi, I’m Hemera! But also, like, Jeonghan. I’m sorry, but I was the one making a report on you, and you’re fascinating.”

Jimin blinks rapidly, turning to look at Yoongi murderously.

“Report on me?” He asks quietly and with a dangerous smile. Yoongi reminds himself that he is an assassin, and he will not be scared of Park Jimin.

“We needed to know who Taehyung’s friend was,” he says evenly. “Don’t tell me you didn’t expect it.”

Jimin purses his lips and takes a deep breath through his nose before turning back to the camera and smiling. Yeah, Yoongi will have to deal with _that_ later.

“Well, thank you, I guess,” Jimin says, studying the screen with interest. “I presume you are Aether?”

Seungcheol nods, smiling.

“If you feel you’re being watched — that’s me.” He salutes comically and leans back. “I guess we will leave you to your affairs.”

Yoongi nods seriously.

“Thank you for the information. Keep me updated.”

“Will do.” Seungcheol nods and disconnects the call, but not before Jeonghan manages to yell out a quick “Bye, Jimin!” followed by the similarly breathless response from Jimin.

Yoongi hides his phone and turns to Jimin, who’s smiling softly to himself. Yoongi frowns.

“They’re married,” he feels the need to clarify. Jimin blinks a few times, looking at him with confusion, but then snorts.

“I don’t have hots for Jeonghan.” He rolls his eyes and stands up. “It just felt nice to have someone call me fascinating.”

Yoongi frowns, following him inside the apartment. He calls Jimin amazing and beautiful all the time. Not out loud, of course, but he’s getting there. He watches Jimin’s back, covered by _Yoongi’s_ leather jacket, and smiles proudly to himself. Jimin might find Jeonghan nice, but he’s wearing _his_ clothes. So.

They leave the apartment after Yoongi meticulously checks the hall and the elevator, and Jimin keeps smiling despite his occasional annoyed huff.

“What’s so funny?” He wonders as they move down the street. He nods at Minhyuk who’s posing as a postman across the street, having relieved Hyungwon on the watch duty.

“Nothing,” Jimin answers, rubbing his neck. “I’m just… calm.”

Yoongi doesn’t say anything to that, but he finds himself smiling. That’s good. That is very good.

VIII

  
“So what I’m saying is—” Jimin picks up an avocado and looks it over thoughtfully, “—you can’t really pick a favorite. They’re all unique and talented in their own way.” Yoongi groans dramatically and takes the avocado to bag it and put it in the card.

“Yes, but you can’t deny that Banryu is one of the most complicated and fascinating characters.”

Jimin huffs as they move forward down the aisle. Yoongi sighs in frustration.

“It figures you would go with the tsundere.” Jimin blinks innocently while looking over the fruit shelf.

“What is that supposed to mean?” Yoongi frowns and sniffs. “He has an amazing redemption arc.”

Jimin shrugs and motions for Yoongi to prepare a bag for oranges. He picks them out like that’s the most important thing in his life at the moment.

“Yes. Like I said — the tsundere.”

Yoongi sighs heavily. So what if he relates to an ancient Hwarang? He has cute eyebrows.

“Okay, but let’s address the elephant in the room,” he says as they keep going, moving to the meat aisle. “Have you ever noticed how much Taehyung looks like Hansung?” Jimin turns to him abruptly, his face scandalized.

“He does not!” He whines, frowning. “People keep saying that, but I just don’t see it!”

Yoongi shrugs, smiling quietly. Frustrated Jimin is adorable, and sue Yoongi for indulging his weakness for the boy.

“Just saying.” He watches as Jimin clicks his tongues and looks over the meat, looking for what he wants. “Also, Suho kinda looks like one of our Moirai.”

Jimin snorts and puts the pack into the cart, motioning for Yoongi to push the card to the vegan products aisle. Taehyung is supposed to come back home tomorrow, so Jimin wants to cook him something special to distract him from the separation with Jungkook. Yoongi talked to Jungkook this morning, but the boss didn’t sound like he was dreading Taehyung leaving for an indefinite amount of time. Quite the opposite, he sounded over the moon. Maybe, he got high.

“What’s your favorite food?” Jimin says suddenly, distracting Yoongi from his thoughts. He frowns.

“The edible one.”

Jimin makes an “aish” sound and hits Yoongi on the shoulder, looking like a disheveled kitten. But also — hot. Yoongi still can’t get over him wearing his jacket.

“Come on, I’m trying to get to know you,” he complains, crossing his arms on his chest.

“I’m more complicated than a dish, Jiminie.” Yoongi raises his eyebrows, mirroring his pose. The boy huffs and lowers his hands in defeat.

“But it’s a start,” he murmurs, shrugging with one shoulder, and Yoongi suddenly wants to punch himself for making Jimin sad. He sighs.

“I don’t know, Jimin, I don’t really have a preference.”

Jimin purses his lips and goes back to browsing the shelves.

“Alright, then I will figure it out myself,” he murmurs, already back in his own world. Yoongi smiles fondly.

It helps. Jimin was right.

Once they stopped acting like enemies in disguise, it got easier. To look at Jimin and deal with the thought of never having him. To see how excited he gets over the smallest things, and how his face lights up and his eyes disappear when he smiles, and how he hums songs under his breath when he’s lost in thought. He has a beautiful voice, and even if it still hurts a little, Yoongi still thinks it’s becoming his favorite sound in the world.

Jimin is more open with him, too. He still doesn’t know how much of his previous attitude was born out of the curse, and what was his own unique personality, but now he doesn’t catch himself before speaking his thoughts, and he doesn’t treat Yoongi like the guy he can order around. He still makes fun of him and acts like a little bitch, but it gets Yoongi feeling so fond that he can’t find it in himself to mind.

Jimin’s phone chimes with a notification, and he pulls it out to look at the screen. He frowns and sighs.

“It’s Tony,” he says. “He wonders if we can meet.”

Yoongi purses his lips and shuts down the annoyance he can feel rising in his soul. He comes closer and touches Jimin’s shoulder. Jimin looks up at him, his gaze a little lost.

“Be honest,” Yoongi asks quietly. “Do you really want to be with him?”

Jimin opens his mouth but doesn’t say anything, and Yoongi sighs.

“Because if you don’t — just say a word. I’ll make it so he never bothers you again.”

He is serious, yet Jimin snorts for some reason, but it’s not mocking. It’s soft.

“Yoongi, please don’t kill my boyfriend.” He smiles, looking up to meet his eyes. They’re bright with humor. “I’ll take care of it myself.” He texts Tony back and hides his phone in his pocket.

“I want to talk to him and sort everything out,” he confesses softly. “I know we’re far from perfect, but he helped me through one of the hardest periods of my life, and I treated him like shit yesterday without even wondering what happened to him.”

Yoongi knows he needs to step back and take his hand off Jimin’s shoulder, but he can’t, it’s hard, and some part of him hopes that listening to Jimin talk about his boyfriend will make Yoongi hate that guy less. They’re trying to be friends. He will do everything to maintain that if it’s what makes Jimin happy.

“I asked him to give me a few days to recover, but then we’ll meet and talk everything out,” Jimin says, biting his lip. “I owe him that much, you know? One more chance.”

He moves away first, but not before squeezing Yoongi’s fingers with his own. Yoongi frowns but nods, resigned.

“Alright,” he agrees, pushing the cart forward. Jimin looks normal, but Yoongi can feel some sadness coming from him.

“Hey,” he calls out, trying to make his face look as friendly as he can, which is already more effort than he does with other people, so there’s that. Jimin turns to him, his eyebrows raised. “I don’t particularly have a favorite dish, but I am a sucker for pork ribs.”

Jimin blinks and then smiles widely, his good mood coming back in a flash. Yoongi bites the inside of his lips to keep from smiling.

“Than I shall cook you the best pork ribs you’ve ever had.”

 _‘You’re already the best anything I’ve ever had,_ he thinks but doesn’t say, obediently following Jimin back to the meat aisle.

It takes them two more hours to finish up and head home, seeing as Jimin thought it of life-and-death importance to buy soy sauce exclusively from a certain shop that they had to drive to. They passed the Helios on their way back, and Jimin didn’t neglect to mention that Yoongi promised to get him an appointment whenever he wishes. Yoongi groaned, remembering that, but also because Jaehyun saw him in the window and pointed to his hair, smiling widely. Yoongi flipped him off and pushed the gas pedal just as the green light lit up. Jimin laughed for three minutes straight, trying to compliment Yoongi’s hair between hiccups.

All in all, they got home safely, and this time, Yoongi left the car around the corner. They get out of it just in time for Minhyuk to appear and inform them that there’s someone buzzing Jimin’s apartment.

It shouldn’t come as a surprise that it’s Tony, but it still makes Yoongi want to pull out his gun.

Jimin gasps and speeds up, and Yoongi has no choice but to follow him, seeing as Jimin’s hands are full with bags and the only thing he can do is kick Tony if it comes to it, and Yoongi really wants to see it. And, alternatively, throw in a few punches himself.

“The fuck are you doing here?” Jimin says instead of the greeting, and Yoongi almost claps his hands in excitement. “I tell you to give me space, and you show up at my door two hours later?”

Tony looks worn out and tired, but as soon as his eyes land on Yoongi, they fill with anger, and he huffs, licking his lips.

“What, I interrupted your date?” He bites out, and Yoongi blinks rapidly, his mind allowing itself to actually imagine it.

Jimin huffs and puts the bags on the floor to free his hands and put them on his waist.

“Yoongi is my friend who was helping me with groceries,” he says, his voice deceptively sweet. “And I actually enjoyed his company because he respects my wishes, unlike some people.”

Yoongi pouts, his eyes widening, as he turns a bit away as not to intrude. But, well, Jimin called him his friend. He feels his lips stretching. Gods, he feels like a teenager.

“Jimin, I just wanted to talk,” Tony sighs, coming closer. Jimin stays frozen.

“And I told you that we would,” Jimin growls. “When I am ready.”

Tony throws his hands in the air and moves even closer, causing Yoongi to tense, but he doesn’t get to fulfill his Tony-punching fantasy — the guy trips over one of the bags, and the groceries come flying out, the oranges rolling onto the pavement.

Jimin screams out in annoyance, pushing Tony away to prevent him from stepping on a yogurt bottle.

“Look what you’ve done,” he whines, his voice so tired and sad that Yoongi can’t help but move closer and put his hand on Jimin’s forearm.

Tony crouches down to put everything back into the bag while Jimin turns around and presses his forehead to Yoongi’s shoulder for a fleeting moment. It seems to help him regain his strength because he stands straighter and meets Tony with a cold gaze when the guy stands up with the grocery bag.

“I’m sorry,” Tony says, but it seems to go deeper than just an apology for the mess. His shoulders are slumped, but his eyes burn with emotion.

And so they’re standing there — Tony with a face pleading Jimin to forgive him for everything, and Jimin, profound sadness painting his features so thoroughly that Yoongi sees it in every crease of his body, and he remembers how tiny and tired Jimin seemed last night, his body pressed up against Yoongi’s, asking to help him fall asleep and calm his soul down, and so he makes the dumbest decision of his life.

“There’s a party at the Underworld club,” he blurts out, looking at the wall. He doesn’t want to meet Jimin’s eyes, let alone Tony’s. “Next weekend. I can get you two VIP passes.” Like he wouldn’t bring Jimin there anyway, but he has a charade to play. “You could come there, have fun… Sort everything out.”

He hears Jimin breath out and turns to look at him, immediately regretting it. Jimin looks confused and hurt, and Yoongi really doesn’t understand. He wanted to give them another chance, right? Yoongi is basically giving him a perfect opportunity on a silver platter, and yet Jimin looks annoyed.

“That’s a good idea,” Tony speaks up, and Yoongi tears his gaze away to look at the smiling guy. “We love dancing, right, Chim?”

It sounds mocking somehow, and Yoongi looks at him closer, trying to find something — anything to give him an excuse to feed the guy to the fish. He even takes a step closer but feels Jimin’s hand on his bicep.

“I’ll see you there, then,” he says quietly, smiling weakly. He takes the bag from his hands and motions for Yoongi to pick up the other one. “Come on, Yoon, Tae will be home soon, I want to start on that dinner.” It’s obvious in his eyes that if Yoongi says that Tae won’t be back till Sunday, Jimin will clock him. He opens the door and walks in without saying goodbye to Tony, and Yoongi follows him after letting his brain have a two-second freakout over the “Yoon.” He doesn’t look back, but, as he’s closing the door, he sees Tony smile sadly.

VIII

  
As soon as they enter the apartment, Jimin drops the bag on the kitchen counter and storms to his room, shutting the door loudly.

Yoongi blinks, taken aback.

“Of course I’ll put everything away, Jimin, no trouble,” he murmurs, pouting as he takes off his shoes and goes into the kitchen.

Why is he so upset? Moreso, why is he so upset with _Yoongi_? Didn’t he give them a perfect opportunity to take their minds off things and have fun? If you ask him, he’s the perfect matchmaker. A Cupid, for fuck’s sake.

The analogy makes him think about Aphrodite, and he closes his eyes briefly, cursing himself. He managed to go barely half a day without thinking about that.

Jimin is complicated, he admits to himself as he opens the fridge to put the groceries away. He can’t expect him to change, and he can’t ask him to be even more open than he’s already trying to be. Didn’t he promise to try and do things Jimin’s way just this morning? He sighs, looking at a single orange as if it can give him the answers he needs. The fruit looks like it’s judging him.

“Oh, what do you know,” he murmurs, throwing it into the fruit bowl.

He will tell Yoongi what’s wrong when, and if, he wants. Yes. That’s a positive thought.

Yoongi rubs his eyes, feeling tired. He didn’t manage to sleep that much, staying alert to see if Jimin has a nightmare again. Besides, he can’t afford to fall asleep when there are no other guards in the apartment, even if there’s outside surveillance. He gets out his phone and texts Ten, asking if everything is okay at home and if there is someone who can pull a night shift at the apartment.

He continues putting everything away, and just as he places the last water bottle on the shelf, Jimin finally comes out, looking like he’s about to break something.

“Listen, Jimin, I’m sorry,” Yoongi starts before the boy can start yelling at him. “I thought it would be nice for you to spend some time with him in a familiar environment. You like dancing, don’t you?” Jimin stops in his tracks, dropping his phone on the kitchen counter. He blinks a few times and chuckles grimly.

“File that away for later,” he says gravely. He looks shaken up, and Yoongi feels wary as he comes closer. Jimin’s eyes are red and wide, his cheeks flushed.

“Did you know?”

Now it’s Yoongi’s turn to be confused. He raises his eyebrows and opens his mouth, but Jimin interrupts him, sliding his phone closer to Yoongi. He picks it up and looks at the screen of Jimin’s text chain with Taehyung.

At first, he doesn’t understand what he’s supposed to be looking at. It’s a picture of Taehyung and Jungkook. Is Jimin upset because Tae sent it because it’s not wise for them to have photos together? He frowns and is about to ask Jimin what he means when he sees it.

Taehyung is showing his left hand to the camera, and there, shining beautifully in the lights of Jungkook’s room, is a silver band. On his ring finger.

He feels shock go through him. Taehyung’s smile is wide and bright, and Jungkook looks shy but happy, and his good mood this morning suddenly starts making sense.

What the honest to god fuck.

He swallows and looks at Jimin whose face appears murderous. He lowers his gaze to the picture again and looks at the engagement ring again.

“It’s Rhea’s ring,” he murmurs, not knowing why he suddenly wants to point that out. “I knew Kook asked Auntie to send it to him, but I didn’t know he was going to… Use it.” He hears Jimin let out a puff of air and looks up.

“I don’t give a fuck whose ring it is,” he seethes.

“Don’t let anyone from the family hear it,” Yoongi warns and chuckles, trying to lighten the mood. Why is it sour, anyway? “Rhea was the only one from that generation everybody actually liked. She died giving birth to Jungkook.”

Jimin looks taken aback by that, his eyes widening, a hint of sadness appearing there, but he composes himself, anger coming back. Oh. So he’s not happy about it all.

“They met like two months ago,” he bites out, his hands flying up. “And his father doesn’t even know they’re together, how do you think he will react when he finds out his son is marrying the man he vowed to destroy?!” He looks more panicked by the moment, and Yoongi walks around the counter to put his hands on Jimin’s shoulders.

“Hey, Jiminie,” he says softly, feeling like he does every time he finds another stray cat and tries to get it to trust him so that he can feed it. “We will always protect him. Kim won’t be able to touch him ever again.” He remembers the incident three weeks ago and purses his lips, trying to control the rage shooting through him. “Or you.” Jimin lets out a whimper and rubs his chest.

“I just…” He hiccups and looks around wildly, and Yoongi realizes it — he’s not scared, he’s angry. “How can he do it to Taehyung? How can he put him in such danger? Is he that fucking selfish?” Anger. This is the first time Yoongi feels mad at Jimin. He takes a deep breath, trying to calm down, and takes his hands off Jimin, stepping away.

“You don’t know him,” he says coldly. Jimin looks at him, surprised, and Yoongi grits his teeth. “You know jack shit about Jungkook, or about the way we do things, or about the way we treat others.” A flash of guilt goes over Jimin’s face, but he contains it quickly.

“And you don’t know how we feel things,” Yoongi continues. “And how we love.”

It’s suddenly cold in the room, an invisible wall appearing between them. Yoongi feels like all the progress they’ve made evaporated in a second.

“I just wish what’s best for Taehyung,” Jimin says quietly, calmly.

“So does Kook,” Yoongi responds as coldly. “And so do I.”

Jimin huffs, looking away in disbelief, and Yoongi wants to scream.

“The only one being selfish here is you,” Yoongi grits out, no matter how much he hates admitting it. Jimin jerks his head to look at him incredulously. “Don’t look at me like that, it’s true. You were at the hotel. You’ve seen the power we have. You know we can keep you both safe. Yet you would prefer for Taehyung to leave the protection of the Underworld and move back to his asshole of a father?”

Jimin bares his teeth, stepping closer and pointing his finger at Yoongi.

“You know I fucking don’t,” he spits out.

“Then what?” Yoongi steps closer too, feeling Jimin’s finger touch his chest. “You think you can protect him yourself?” He chuckles cruelly, baring his teeth too. “You’re alone, Jimin. We are an army.” Jimin is breathing heavily, his eyes burning with rage. Some part of Yoongi’s fucked up mind, the one not occupied by his own anger, thinks that he looks rather hot. Which is… Okay.

“You’re feeling comfortable around us, but you lash out the second you realize you’re both in for a long run,” he says quietly, trying to get his emotions under control. “If you ask me… I think you’re angry because you don’t want things to change.”

Jimin swallows and takes a deep breath, gritting his teeth. Yoongi sees his jawline harden, which is, once again… Not the point here.

“Well, newsflash, pretty.” Yoongi tilts his head, feeling his old Ares habits kicking in. He never thought he'd have to talk to Jimin like he does to his subordinates, but here they are. “Everything is already changing. And you’re either on board or over it.” He turns away, having nothing else to say.

Jimin stays silent, but after a few seconds he grabs his phone and goes back to his room, shutting the door even louder than before.

Yoongi takes out his phone and dials the familiar number.

Jungkook picks up on the second ring, sounding as disgustingly happy as he was this morning.

“I believe congratulations are in order,” Yoongi says, smiling. Now that fuming Jimin isn’t here anymore, he can allow himself to feel happy for his brother.

He hears Kook laugh and take a deep breath. There’s a deep voice in the background, and Yoongi guesses Taehyung didn’t leave his side since the proposal. He smiles fondly.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner,” Jungkook says breathlessly. “I already got scolded by Taeyong for not informing him the second Tae said yes.”

“Aish, it’s okay, man.” Yoongi can’t stop smiling. It really is okay. If someone around here deserves to be happy the most, it’s Kook. “I’m really happy for you.”

“I’m happy for me too,” Kook snorts, but Taehyung says something, and he sobers up. “Hey, is Jimin okay? He still hasn’t replied to Tae.”

Yoongi looks at the closed door, imagining a little angry ball of rage on the bed, and sighs.

“He’ll come around. Don’t take it personally.”

“Yeah,” Jungkook sighs. “Tae expected him to react somewhat badly.”

Yoongi purses his lips and rubs his temple.

“He just needs some time to remember that Taehyung is his best friend, and he’s happy for him.” He swallows. “And that you’re probably the only person able to give Taehyung the protection he needs.”

“You seem to have figured him out,” Jungkook notes, humming. Yoongi snorts.

“The day I figure out Park Jimin will be the day the world ends.”

They talk a bit more and bid their goodbyes after Jungkook makes him promise to be his best man alongside Hoseok and Taeyong. Like he would ever refuse.

He stares at his phone and contemplates calling someone to fill in for him. Maybe, Jimin needs to spend some time away from him.

Yoongi looks at his door. He should leave him be. He should let him stew in his anger, get over his petty issues, and get back to being a supportive friend. Yoongi should leave him alone.

He groans and marches to Jimin’s room, opening it without knocking. Just like he predicted, Jimin is curled up in a ball facing away from him, even his back looking angry. Yoongi sighs and comes closer.

“Go away.”

Yoongi ignores him and scoops him up, flinching when Jimin starts yelling at him to put him down. He’s tiny and light, but the fact that he’s trying to fight back makes it harder to manhandle him. Yoongi carries him out to the living room and puts him on the couch, resisting actually dropping him on the floor.

He looks like an angry kitten.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Jimin seethes, his hair a mess, his face flushed, and no, it is not the time to feel attracted to him.

Yoongi ignores him once again and goes back to his room to get his jacket and phone before coming back up and throwing them on the couch near Jimin.

“We’re going out.”

“The fuck we are,” Jimin throws back, his face pissed. “I have to cook dinner.”

“Well, you’re not doing that right now, are you?” Yoongi seethes sarcastically.

He doesn’t wait for the answer, instead going for the exit and opening the door. Jimin is motionless, looking at him like he’s gone mad, but Yoongi doesn’t budge, holding the door open and raising his eyebrows.

“It’s non-negotiable.”

Jimin huffs in annoyance but gets up, grabbing his things and stomping past Yoongi into the hallway and pressing the elevator button like it offended him and his entire belief system. Yoongi rolls his eyes and locks the door, joining him. If looks could kill, Yoongi would be a pile of glittery ashes by now.

By the time they go out on the street and turn into the alley where Yoongi ordered Johnny to leave his bike at, Jimin looks like an offended hedgehog. Yoongi knows it’s not the time, but he feels so fond it’s hard to breathe.

As soon as Jimin sees the bike, his face lights up, but he remembers that he’s being a brat and schools his expression into an indifferent one. Yoongi shoves his helmet in his chest, regretting being too harsh almost immediately, and takes the bike off the centerstand. He gets on, waiting for Jimin to climb behind him. When he feels small hands dig into his sides angrily, he starts the ignition and rides out of the alley and onto the main road.

It takes him ten minutes to ensure there’s no trail and get out of the city, and as soon as they’re on the highway, he can finally let his baby roar. He speeds up, enjoying the feeling of wind hitting his helmet, the vibrations under his thighs, and Jimin’s hands on his waist, the boy’s excitement palpable in the air.

The wind turns cold after five minutes, but it’s pleasant. They fly past trees and villas until they’re in the open space, only fields on both sides, and nobody on the road to disturb their chaotic peace. He feels Jimin’s thighs press closer to his and frowns, but the next second he feels his hands leave his waist. He looks in the rearview mirror and sees Jimin spread his arms like wings and scream in excitement. His helmet is dark, but Yoongi can imagine his happy face, his lips stretched out in laughter, his eyes disappearing as he enjoys the freedom.

No matter how beautiful Yoongi thinks Jimin looks, he’s still a careless dumbass, so he leans back, touching Jimin’s chest with his back, causing the boy to throw his hands back on his waist. Jimin is still laughing when Yoongi slows down and pulls over. Even before the engine is off, Jimin jumps off and takes off his helmet, his laughter now even more bright.

“That was fucking awesome!” He screams out as Yoongi centers the bike and takes off his own helmet. “Gods, I felt so free.”

Yoongi can’t deny that his happy face is a sight to behold, but he still tries to appear strict.

“You could’ve fallen off,” he chastises, but he still can’t fight off his smile.

Jimin snorts and comes closer, feeling so caught up in the moment that he puts his hands on Yoongi’s shoulders, and suddenly he’s _there_ , right before Yoongi, his smile so close to his own lips that Yoongi feels his breath hitch.

“But I didn’t.” Jimin shrugs and giggles. “Does it always feel like this?”

Yoongi quickly composes himself and smiles.

“If you’re fast enough. You can’t get this speed in the city, so sometimes I ride out here when I need to take my minds off of things.” He shrugs lightly. “And I thought you could use it.”

Jimin’s face falls, but the corners of his lips stay upturned as he huffs and blows a strand of hair out of his eyes.

“Yeah.” He drops his hands but doesn’t move away. Yoongi doesn’t know if he’s grateful for that. “Listen, I…”

“You don’t have to explain yourself to me, Jiminie,” Yoongi interrupts him. He doesn’t think he was too harsh, because Jimin obviously needed a reality check, but he still wishes he could have handled it better.

“But I want to,” Jimin says, shaking his head. “I meant what I said — I want us to know each other. And me reacting that way to the news completely negated it.” He blinks and wraps his hands around him. It’s getting colder, so Yoongi silently takes off his jacket and puts it over Jimin’s. Now he’s wearing two items that belong to Yoongi. That is a somewhat comforting thought.

“It’s been a long fucking weekend,” Jimin chuckles, licking his lips. “I already felt like my life is falling apart, and then this engagement…”

He looks down, his gaze wandering wildly, but Yoongi gives him time to get his thoughts under control. Jimin finally looks up, his eyes wet, and he can’t help it — he leans forward, wrapping the boy in his arms. Jimin presses close, his hands finding their way to Yoongi’s back, and he takes a deep, shaky breath.

“I just feel like I’ve lost all control. I can’t… I feel trapped, Yoongi, I feel like I can’t even walk, let alone fly.”

Yoongi closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, trying to transfer some of his strength to Jimin. He just needs a bit to get through this. He’s strong, Yoongi knows it.

He gives Jimin a few minutes, and then leans back a bit, not letting him leave from where he’s standing between Yoongi’s legs, but allowing enough space to show him the tattoo on his right forearm.

“See this bird?” He asks softly, taking Jimin’s hand and putting his fingers over the black outlines so he can feel the scarred skin. “Do you want to know what it means?”

It’s a simple yet big design, and he got it shortly after the Underworld became its own kingdom. There’s a small wounded robin under his elbow, and an eagle flying up from it to his wrist. Its beak is open in a war cry, and its wings are close to its body as if it’s preparing to attack, and most people assume that the eagle killed the robin and took off. But in reality, it’s getting ready to fight whoever wounded the little bird.

He explains it all quietly to Jimin, tracing his fingers over the lines as he talks. Jimin is silent, and after some time, Yoongi doesn’t need to lead him — his fingers move on their own.

“Are you the eagle?” He asks quietly, mesmerized.

“Yes,” Yoongi answers as quietly. “And the robin.”

Jimin looks up, surprised, and they’re so close Yoongi wishes he could tell him his soul. But he cannot.

“Even the strongest of us can fall, Jiminie,” he whispers. “We get shot down, we get hurt, we feel like our wounds will never heal. But as long as we remember that we can fly back up again, stronger and fiercer, as long as we remember who we are…” He looks down at the eagle, a fond smile on his lips. “We will be okay.”

Jimin is frozen when he looks back up, and Yoongi sees something deep and familiar in his eyes, but it’s gone before he can realize what it was. Jimin’s small fingers turn his arm, touching small symbols under the eagle’s belly.

“And what do these mean?” He asks softly.

“These are the reminder that there is always a reason to fly,” he explains, pointing to each symbol as he talks. First is the poppy flower. “This one is Hades.” The ancient lyre. “Orpheus.” The trident. “Poseidon.”

He bites his lip. There’s enough place for a few more, but he cannot think of another person so dear to him. Well… But that is not a good thought, so he pushes it away as he looks up at Jimin.

“They’re the only family I've ever known, and this way, I get to always carry them with me.”

They look at each other silently, seconds ticking by as they study each other’s eyes, and Yoongi has never felt this calm, this content, this right. Jimin smiles at him like everything is okay, like they share the same feeling, like they get to be happy just because they’re together. After a few moments, he blinks and looks down.

“When I saw Tony today,” he starts quietly, and Yoongi feels something in him shatter. Right. That guy. “I realized that I can’t stand him.”

Yoongi blinks rapidly, taken aback. “But you said—”

“I know what I said, Yoongi,” Jimin interrupts, jerking his head. “But that was before he once again disregarded everything I asked him for and showed up at my door when I clearly stated that I need time.” He huffs and licks his lips, shaking his head.

“I swear I was ready to break up with him then and there,” he says shakily, and Yoongi feels an urge to smack himself. He stares at Jimin, lost for words. “I just… stopped seeing the point in it all. I don’t know what moved me to start dating him, but we just don’t fit, you know?”

Is Yoongi supposed to answer? Excuse him, his brain is going into overdrive.

“And I saw it so clearly it was almost nauseating. It’s like the curse caused my mind to… To malfunction with everything. And now it got back to normal, and I thought, ‘why am I making myself do this?’, and I got ready to say that I don’t want to see him anymore, and then you went and invited him to a _fucking party at your own house._ ” Yoongi wants to scream. He really does.

“I am an idiot,” he breathes out.

“You really are, Yoon,” Jimin agrees, and his face looks sad, but there’s humor in his eyes. “Now I have to wait another week because I don’t want to see him before then, and I’m really not comfortable with breaking up with him over the phone.”

Yoongi just keeps staring at him. Jimin was close to becoming single? And Yoongi messed that up?

It’s not like he would jump on him, of course. There is still the issue with Yoongi being afraid of what his life can turn Jimin into, and he wouldn’t want to force him into this world, but he could at least spare Jimin the pain of being with someone he doesn’t like anymore, and sweet gods, Min Yoongi, you are a disaster. He closes his eyes.

“I am so sorry, Jiminie,” he whispers slowly and hears Jimin chuckle.

“You should be.”

He opens his eyes and realizes again how close they are. There’s a secret in Jimin’s eyes, an unexpected joy. The world is quiet around them, only the sounds of wind disrupting their little bubble. Jimin puts his hand on Yoongi’s chest.

“Thank you anyway,” he murmurs. His eyes glow. “For taking me here, and for not letting me get away with being a dumbass. And for sticking with me even after the whiplash I’ve put you through. Thank you for staying.”

Yoongi takes a deep breath, smelling roses and grapes. He looks at Jimin’s necklace, the sword glinting in the afternoon sun.

“I don’t think I really had a choice, sunshine.”

He remembers this morning, when he asked Hyungwon to get him a sunflower for Jimin, and how pretty it looked, even though its beauty dimmed next to Jimin’s. He thinks about the expression on Jimin’s face when he told him he wants to _know_ Yoongi. How dumbfounded he looked when Yoongi told him that he is invisible in this city.

Someone may be affecting this boy’s life, trying to destroy it for gods knows what reason, but he has threads coming out of his soul, tying him to his best friend. Tying Yoongi to him.

Jimin is looking at him like he has everything figured out, like his soul is singing with understanding, and Yoongi is terrified — what if he really _knows_? Jimin sighs barely audible and leans closer. They’re inches apart now, and Yoongi sees the universe in his eyes, and it sounds corny even in his head, and Jimin smiles as if he can sense his embarrassment, and Yoongi’s resolve is crumbling piece by piece, and every reason to stay away suddenly dissolves, and his mind becomes consumed with one single thought — how would it feel to kiss Jimin? Everything inside of him becomes the epitome of that single thought, and Jimin’s hand moves to the back of Yoongi’s neck, and Yoongi puts his hands on his waist, every piece of his common sense evaporating, and all it will take now is one slight movement for their lips to touch.

And then Jimin’s phone rings.

He would think they would jump away like it always happens in movies, but Jimin stays where he is, only moving a few inches away, his face angry at being interrupted. Yoongi would relate, but he’s currently trying to find his brain inside the mess of his mind. Jimin takes his phone out, annoyed, and frowns at the unfamiliar number.

“Yes?” He listens to someone on the other line, and with every word, he looks even more confused. Yoongi raises his eyebrows in question, but Jimin just shakes his head. Yoongi pouts, and a brief smile appears on Jimin’s lips before he composes himself and looks away. Finally, the caller stops talking, and Jimin swallows.

“Alright, thank you. I will be there in twenty minutes.”

Oh, will he? Is Yoongi his personal driver?

Right, he is.

“What’s wrong?” He asks as soon as Jimin hangs up.

“Apparently, my father has a storage unit at the docks.” He looks confused and worried. “And someone just broke into it.”

Yoongi sobers up immediately. That’s too suspicious and coincidental. He picks up Jimin’s helmet from the seat and gives it to him. Jimin looks perplexed and regretful, and Yoongi gets it, but his common sense is starting to come back, so he climbs the bike properly and motions for Jimin to get up.

He may have his reasons to stay away from Jimin, but at times, he is a weak man, so when he feels Jimin’s hands wrap around his waist, he brushes over his fingers gently, before lighting the ignition and taking off to get them back into the City. And if he revels in the feeling of Jimin pressed close to him, well. There is nobody to see him for miles and miles around.

VIII

  
Yoongi expects to see cops when they pull up at the docks, so he gets ready to sort that shit out before it even hits the fan. He can only hope it’s someone on their payroll.

They ride up to the storage unit Jimin told him about, and he thinks about calling Hoseok when he sees the man himself stand near the mangled door, talking to a uniformed officer. Yoongi releases a breath. Hobi is in charge of everything around the river.

He parks the bike and climbs off, helping Jimin down and taking his helmet.

“Well, that’s an interesting duo,” he hears Hoseok say as he straps the helmets and turns to greet his best friend.

“Hobi?”

He looks at Jimin, surprised, and then at Hobi, who has the decency to look sheepish.

“Chim, hi!” Hoseok greets him as they come closer to the unit. “Yoongles, my old friend!”

Yoongi feels irritation shoot through him.

“Don’t try to suck up, Hoseok,” he warns him as he turns to Jimin. “You two already know each other?”

Jimin stutters, emitting a strange sound.

“ _You_ know him?”

Yoongi throws his hands in the air, huffing.

“He’s my best friend!”

Hoseok looks like he’s about to burst out laughing, and Yoongi hears the officer chuckle. He’s about to snap at him, but a quick look at his face shuts him up.

“Oh, hi, Mark,” he says grimly, and the guy waves his hand awkwardly. Thank fuck it’s one of Jaebeom’s, one of Olympus’ gangs.

Jimin, meanwhile, sounds like he wants to reach the level of sound that only dogs can hear.

“Best friend?!” He screams out, but then catches himself and lowers his voice. “You’re Poseidon?”

Hobi lights up, smiling brightly.

“One and only.” He salutes and turns to Yoongi. “Let’s cut to the chase. Yes, I know Jimin, he’s in my dance group, and you would know that if you read Jimin’s file carefully.”

“Oh, by the way, about that file—” Jimin turns to Yoongi, and Yoongi is honestly this close to running away from the amount of emotions Jimin can feel in a span of one minute. A whiplash, truly.

“Jimin, priorities!” He grits out.

“Yeah, Chim, you can chastise your boyfriend later.” Hobi smiles innocently. “And yes, I know him, he’s my best friend. I saved him from a cold death and gave him his purpose in life.”

Yoongi snorts. “You bought me a milkshake, man, don’t oversell yourself.”

Jimin huffs, trying to get his feelings under control.

“Unbelievable,” he murmurs. “You’re like the kindest person I know, how can you be a gang member?”

“Effortlessly.” Hoseok shrugs. “And it kinda came with the family.”

Yoongi sees the exact moment when Jimin remembers whose son and brother Hoseok is. He swallows and nods to himself as he files the information away. Yoongi can’t look away.

“Guys, we kinda have a situation here,” Mark speaks up, gesturing to the unit behind them.

Yoongi nods and comes closer. The door is wrecked, the lock ripped away and thrown on the ground. It doesn’t look like a work of a pro, and it seems that whoever did this was in a hurry. Yoongi looks up, searching for cameras until he sees one on the unit a few feet away.

“I already called Aether,” Hobi voices his thoughts. “The guy was all in black and wearing a mask. Came on foot with a heavy backpack, left with the same backpack but significantly lighter.”

“The door isn’t the weirdest shit here,” Mark says, coming closer and pulling it away let them all inside. “Mister Park?”

Jimin startles at the title but comes closer.

“This is my father’s unit, I didn’t even remember it existed,” Jimin says. “After I lost the house while in the hospital, they said they just moved all the stuff from there to here. I never even visited it, I had all I needed at the dorms. I don’t think there’s anything valuable.”

“You won’t believe it, but they didn’t come here to steal,” Hoseok says as he motions for them to come inside.

Mark switches the lights on, and both Jimin and Yoongi freeze.

There are a lot of things, furniture and boxes thrown around, squeezed between each other, but that’s not what attracts attention. Right in the middle of the room, a cage stands, its frame uneven but strong, wrapping around a few small boxes. The lock on it is gigantic, shining in the overhead light.

“The fuck?”

He isn’t sure who says it — Jimin or he, but the sentiment is shared. They step closer, inspecting the cage. It’s not that big, but the bars are located too frequently to squeeze a hand through them.

“Who would break into here to put some boxes under another lock?” Jimin wonders, frowning.

“What’s inside?” Hoseok asks, his face calculating.

“No idea.” Jimin shrugs and looks closer. “I didn’t pack it, so I wouldn’t know.”

Yoongi inspects the lock closer. He’s not a key master, but even he understands it won’t be easy to pick it. The keyhole looks unique and handmade, the base of the lock melted shut, so it wouldn’t help if they broke it. They need a key. He stands up, knowing exactly who they need.

“You came in a car?” He turns to Hoseok, who nods, his face lighting up as he sees that Yoongi already has a plan. “Let’s load this. It doesn’t look that heavy.” Jimin turns to him, his eyes wide.

“Why?”

“You want to know what’s inside those boxes, right?” He asks, tilting his head. “It must be something really interesting if they went to all this trouble to hide it.” Jimin nods silently, and Yoongi mirrors that, turning to Mark.

“Help Hobi load it? Jimin and I will ride the bike.”

“Where are we going?” Hoseok asks as they go around the cage, getting ready to lift it up.

Yoongi rubs his face, already imagining all the trouble that can come out of it, but knowing that there’s no other choice.

“We’re going to pay a visit to the best cracksman this city has to offer.”

/

Kibum rises to the challenge immediately.

He just finished tattooing the sleeve of some dangerously looking guy, and he wipes their hands as Yoongi explains what he needs. It takes him a minute to inspect the lock before he stands up from where he was crouching before it.

“Finally, you give me a challenge.” He grins. “It’ll take me a few days. Unfortunately, I’m not good with magic, so I’ll have to do it by hand.”

Yoongi turns to Jimin, who shrugs slightly. He doesn’t really care how long it will take since he doesn’t even know why someone did it in the first place. Yoongi turns back to Kibum.

“Whatever you need, man,” he says, and Kibum nods.

Taemin motions for Hoseok and Mark to follow him into the backroom to move the cage into a safe place.

“Hey, since you’re here, wait for us? We’ll ride together.”

Yoongi frowns, confused, and Kibum squints.

“The meeting? At the Underworld?” He clarifies, tilting his head slightly.

Yoongi groans, throwing his head.

“Fuck, I completely forgot about it,” he drawls, rubbing his temples. “I probably won’t attend, I have a… An assignment.”

Jimin perks up from where he was looking over the designs on the parlor walls.

“I can take care of myself,” he says, pouting. “I’ll just stay inside the hotel with… With someone.”

Yoongi knows he meant Taehyung, and he’s thankful that he caught himself in time. He purses his lips, feeling like this is literally the shittiest idea since he wanted to visit Jungwoo before letting Jimin back on the hotel’s ground, but it seems like he doesn’t really have any other choice.

“Fine,” he says reluctantly just as the others walk back in.

Hoseok lets Mark go back to his post at the dock and moves toward the back exit to the Moirai.

“I’ll go visit the family,” he informs them. “We’ll ride together. See you at the hotel, Yoon. Bye, Chim, don’t forget we have practice on Monday.”

Jimin waves at him awkwardly and goes back to studying the albums before him while Yoongi talks to Kibum. He feels someone coming up to him and looks up to see a handsome man Yoongi introduced as Taemin. He has a nice smile and kind eyes, and Jimin wonders which position he holds within the gang.

“You have any?” Taemin asks, motioning at the designs Jimin is looking at.

He’s confused at first, but then he realizes Taemin is talking about tattoos. He chuckles.

“Uhm, no,” he confesses awkwardly. He can still feel the bumpy skin on Yoongi’s arm on the tips of his fingers. He still feels the warmth of his chest when he… “But I’m not opposed to the idea.”

Taemin laughs a little and nods. His own hands are covered in tats, gold and black complementing each other in the complicated system of his design.

“I could do you,” Taemin proposes, and Jimin sputters before the guy laughs and corrects himself. “I mean give you a tattoo.”

Jimin can’t help it — he laughs too, the vibes that Taemin has making him feel comfortable. There’s a peacock feather on his neck, but it doesn’t look tacky.

“I don’t really have any ideas.” He purses his lips and shrugs.

“Ah, yes, you need to have a clear understanding of what you want.” Taemin nods with a smile. “You’ll have to carry it all your life, after all.”

“You seem to have had a lot of ideas,” Jimin chuckles, meaning the amount of ink on his skin. Taemin snorts and shrugs.

“The curse of a tattoo master,” he explains, but he doesn’t look regretful. Quite the opposite — he looks radiant. Jimin is mesmerized by the kindness he can feel in the guy. “And you know, a lot of us devote our lives to what we do, and we brand ourselves with our symbols to remind ourselves and others about our purpose.”

_But as long as we remember that we can fly back up again, stronger and fiercer, as long as we remember who we are…_

Jimin smiles, coming to grasp what it means.

“For example, my symbol here…” He gestures to the peacock feather Jimin noticed earlier. “Means that I’m Hera.”

Jimin blinks a few times, his mind backtracking.

“You and Zeus..?” He trails off, unsure if it’s okay if he’s sleeping with the guy controlling half the city.

Taemin’s eyes widen, and he puts his palms up as he laughs.

“Oh no! No, nothing like that,” he assures Jimin with a smile, and Jimin breathes out, trying to understand why he tensed up in the first place. “Zeus is my step-brother, and I see him only as such. No matter what other people may feel.” The last phrase seems to be spoken not for Jimin, but just out of Taemin’s annoyance. He chooses to let it pass and looks down.

“Maybe, you could choose something for me?” He proposes, smiling, and Taemin lights up.

“Something silver or pink would look amazing on your skin,” he murmurs, hungrily taking in the exposed skin Jimin has. He feels flustered under the attention, but something about Taemin says that he doesn’t have any bad intentions. Jimin finds that he really likes the guy.

“Do you have a nickname? I haven’t seen you around before, but if you’re with Ares, it means you’re important.”

Jimin freezes. A nickname. He knows what Taemin means — the names of the gods they all go by, and no, Jimin doesn’t have one,

_not yet_

no matter how many times Yoongi has proposed one. He swallows, lost for words, and chooses to say something else.

“I like flowers,” he says shakily, hoping Taemin won’t ask him again. Hera blinks in surprise but doesn’t press, and Jimin is grateful. “And shapes. Something like a simple triangle? And roses and apples?” Taemin smiles but there’s a frown creasing his brow, and he looks a little taken aback.

“Fascinating,” he breathes out. “And intriguing.”

“Why?” Jimin rubs his wrist, his bracelets’ weight grounding him.

“You’re describing the symbols of one of the gods,” Taemin explains, and he looks closely at Jimin’s face again. “One we don’t have yet. And you know, you have the beauty for it.”

He feels cold and hot at the same time. There’s a strange feeling inside of him, some barely-there power simmering in his veins, calling out to him and to Taemin’s words.

“So I’m only eligible for something because of my beauty?” He breathes in through his nose. He doesn’t want to get angry, because he actually likes Taemin, but he’s heard these words before, and they never stop hurting.

Taemin covers his lips and makes an “aish” sound.

“I apologize,” he murmurs. “I didn’t mean it like that. But you do have the same temper, you know.”

Jimin bites his lips and looks down at his hands.

“As whom?”

“Well, Aphrodite, of course.”

He closes his eyes and takes a breath, trying to calm down the storm gathering inside. Somehow, when it’s someone apart from Yoongi saying it, he doesn’t feel annoyed. He feels elevated. Special. He bites his lip to keep from smiling.

“Kibum!”

They both turn to the source of the voice, and Jimin sees a man enter through the door Hoseok disappeared in a few minutes ago. Jimin looks to where Yoongi and Kibum are still talking, and he sees as Kibum looks down sheepishly.

“Lakhesis, greetings,” he says quietly, and Jimin hears Taemin snort.

“Watch this,” he whispers conspiratory. “Kibum is the most confident and, at times, annoying guy you’ll ever meet, but as soon as Minho enters a room, it’s like a miracle happens.”

Jimin raises his eyebrows, observing Minho greet Yoongi and turn to Kibum with a fairly pissed off expression.

“I would appreciate it if you warned me beforehand when you cancel our date, and in person,” Minho chastises, and Jimin feels his eyes widen. What drama is this? “And not through text and ten minutes prior.”

“Minho, there are people,” Kibum murmurs, taking his hand and trying to lead him away. Minho stays put.

“Ask me if I give a motherfuck,” Minho snorts, and Jimin decides right there and then that he positively likes him. Kibum sighs and looks him in the eyes.

“I’m sorry, but I got a pretty interesting case from Ares, and I need to dedicate an evening to that,” he explains, and Jimin watches how Yoongi slowly steps away from Minho’s line of vision. Jimin snorts.

“And you couldn’t have invited me along?” Minho pouts, and Jimin suddenly wants some popcorn. He looks at Taemin and sees the guy grin like it’s the happiest moment of his life.

“Well,” Kibum drawls. “There won’t be much work done if you’re there.”

Taemin fails to hold in his laughter, and both Kibum and Minho turn to them. Jimin feels an urge to hide behind Yoongi.

“Taemin.” Minho squints dangerously, and the guy in question stutters trying to save himself.

He doesn’t have to, though. Minho’s gaze falls on Jimin, and his eyes widen, his face turning surprised. He blinks a few times and turns to take a step toward them, but before he can do that, another man emerges from the backroom. As Jimin looks at him, he feels like something inside of him freezes, even though he’s positive he never met the man.

“Atropos,” Yoongi greets him, coming closer and shaking his hand. “It’s good to see you.”

“Likewise, Ares,” he smiles warmly, but there is still something cold in his expression as he measures Jimin with his gaze. Jimin holds it and waits until Atropos looks away to breathe out.

“Hey, Jonghyun, I’m almost done here,” Minho says, but he still looks weird, throwing glances at Jimin.

He moves closer to Yoongi, feeling safer that way.

“I have a group of teenagers in the room, and I need your records to know if they have permission from Mnemosyne to go out,” Jonghyun explains, raising his eyebrows. It seems like the second he looked away from Jimin, his coldness washed away. He’s smiling playfully at the sight of Kibum holding Minho’s hand.

“The Muses again?” Minho groans and sighs. “I’ll be there in a moment.” He turns to Kibum and leaves a peck on his cheek. “We’re not done here, Iris.” He disappears in the entrance, Jonghyun following after bowing slightly to the people in the parlor. He looks at Jimin as he leaves, and it makes something stir in his chest.

“He called me Iris,” Kibum murmurs gravely. “I’m in trouble.”

Taemin cackles evilly as he turns back to Jimin.

“So, what about that tattoo?”

Jimin hears Yoongi groan and slap his face.

“Taemin, can you please stop doing that to everyone new I bring?” He pleads, coming closer to them and looking at Jimin. “Please, don’t listen to him. He’s just the ink junkie.”

“Am not,” Taemin murmurs, pouting, just as the backdoor bursts open again, and a bunch of people fall out.

They’re loud, and there’s a lot of them, and Jimin feels like he’s in the middle of a school as he watches them run past in a seemingly chaotic yet somehow organized manner. They disappear as quickly as they came, and Jimin blinks, thinking that it was a hallucination.

“Those were the Muses,” Yoongi explains. “A few of them.”

In time with his words, there are another two people coming out, but these look much more organized and collected. They spot Yoongi and move towards him.

“Ares,” the tall one bows his head, and Jimin feels his brain freeze for a second. Is everyone in the criminal world this handsome?

“Uranis,” Yoongi nods and turns to the other one. “And Clio, I believe?”

The blonde boy nods with a shy smile. His glasses seem too big for his face, but something tells Jimin that’s just the disguise.

“Kun,” Uranis turns to his companion. “Please, see to the kids. I bet they will get in trouble in ten minutes if you’re not there.”

Kun laughs and takes his leave, following his friends (or are they brothers? Jimin really doesn’t want to guess relation statuses when it comes to these people) outside.

“Yuta, what brings you here?” Taemin asks, his smile warm, yet his eyes cautious. It’s strange for it seemed to Jimin he’s always kind.

“Father heard that Ares is visiting,” Yuta responds, his gaze stopping briefly on Jimin before traveling to Yoongi. “He wanted to give his regards. Unfortunately, he already departed for the meeting and will not be able to accompany you there.”

“So Jin is coming, huh?” Yoongi huffs, clicking his tongue.

Jimin recalls him saying that Seokjin was supposed to find a liaison weeks ago, but he keeps stalling. Nobody likes it, but nobody can do anything about it, either.

“Yes, but only to get me acquainted with the others.” Yuta smiles sweetly, but it looks dangerous. “He’s appointed me as his liaison.”

Jimin wonders if he’s the only one who notices the way Yoongi tenses up. He almost reaches out to him but thinks better of it. He tries to guess why Yoongi wouldn’t like Seokjin finally finding someone to replace him at meetings.

Unless… Yoongi called them Uranis and Clio, the Muses. They are supposed to be the children of Mnemosyne, and it takes him a few moments to connect the dots.

Seokjin appointed one of his “kids” as a supposedly unbiased liaison. Right. Because that will work.

“I guess I will see you there, then.” Yoongi nods slightly, and Yuta takes his leave to the Underworld.

Jimin wonders if they could invite him to ride with them, but that idea seems ridiculous.

“Well,” Taemin chuckles darkly as soon as Yuta leaves. “Good luck with that.”

Yoongi sighs heavily and turns to Jimin with a pleading face.

“Kill me. Kill me now.”

Jimin laughs and pats his shoulder with a mocking pout.

”Nah, I can still have some use of you,” he murmurs, and there’s a second of tension between them from Jimin stepping into dangerous territory again, but it’s gone in a flash. It feels okay. Flirting with Yoongi feels okay.

“Let’s move, people,” Kibum calls out, clapping his hands. “Minnie, you’re in charge. Ares, let’s go pretend we like our relatives.”

VIII

  
The first thing Yoongi notices upon entering the meeting room is that Seokjin is in a terrific mood, which is as much unsettling as it is baffling.

The fuck is he so radiant for?

Yoongi nods to Namjoon and takes his place on Jungkook’s right side. Now that’s who has a reason to radiate content. Yoongi squeezes his shoulder in support and congratulations and then schools his expression into a neutral one. Seunghyun enters through the backdoor, and Yoongi notices that he looks even paler than before. He wonders if he eventually talked to Jiyong.

Hobi is at the center of the table once again, their own Switzerland. He’s talking to Jisoo and Rosé, and Yoongi is almost positive he wants to know if it’s possible to run an underwater casino. He snorts into his palm and turns to Taeyong with his eyebrows raised, but the guy is busy with observing the trio a few seats away. There doesn’t seem to be animosity in him as he looks at Triple H, but Yoongi can still see tension in his shoulders. Some people don’t forgive easily, especially when it’s their loved ones who were wronged. Ten isn’t here, currently occupied with trying to keep Jimin out of trouble, and Yoongi doesn’t know if it’s for the better or for worse.

Almost everyone is here, so everybody apart from him and Athene sits down. He stands straight, observing the members and looking out for threats. They’re inside the Underworld territory, so nothing can possibly happen like at their first meeting held at a relatively open-spaced shop, yet you can never be too careful.

Finally, the door opens, and Johnny leads their last member inside. Yoongi feels surprised seeing Seungcheol but doesn’t let it show. They talked just this morning. Why didn’t Aether tell him he’s coming? And why is he even here if he never leaves his headquarters?

The answer comes immediately in the form of a very disgruntled noise Aether makes as he sits down across Seokjin near Jungkook.

“And you’re telling me I couldn’t have done this from my computer?” He asks, looking extremely irritated. Yoongi can relate.

“It’s tradition, Aether,” Jin says sweetly. “Now, shall we begin?”

The conversation among the groups dies out, and they all turn to face each other. Yoongi notices Hwitaek drill Taeyong with his gaze, but the latter keeps stubbornly looking before him.

“Those who have joined us for the first time,” Taeyong starts, his voice even and collected. This is the reason Taeyong is what Yoongi isn’t. Yoongi could never remain calm in this situation. “Welcome to the Underworld. I did not ask you to surrender your weapons solely because you are trusted but I would ask you to refrain from using them unless absolutely necessary. But I assure you, we are more than properly stuffed.”

“Is that a dig at my shop?” Kibum wonders, blowing a bubble gum. It sounds angry, but he’s actually smiling.

“No, it’s a dig at those who supply it with protection,” Taeyong pars, and Kibum laughs loudly, throwing his head back. There’s a barely visible smile on Taeyong’s lips.

Seokjin doesn’t look affected by this not-so-subtle insult, for he keeps smiling. Yoongi doesn’t trust it.

“If you’re done acting like children,” he says and turns to Yuta, who has been sitting quietly before. “This is Uranis, my liaison for Olympus. He will be present at the meetings of lesser importance and serve as the medium between the realms of Olympus, Underworld, and whatever Poseidon calls his territory.” Hoseok rolls his eyes and clicks his tongue, leaning forward.

“I still can’t think of a name,” he confesses. “Atlantis seems too tacky.”

Jungkook doesn’t let that conversation continue. He clears his throat, and all the attention turns at him. Yoongi would be impressed if he weren’t witnessing that for the best part of a decade.

“It took you a month to find a liaison,” he says quietly. “And when you finally do, you appoint one of your Muses? Convenient.”

Seokjin keeps smiling but Yoongi can see his jaw harden. Yuta seems indifferent, looking at them from behind his fringe, his face stone cold. Seokjin trained him well.

“He’s schooled in diplomacy and combat training, among other things,” Jin says, tilting his head. “He’s more than a perfect candidate to represent Olympus. But you know, of course, how good he is. One of his brothers is among you.” Yoongi sees a flash of something in Yuta’s eyes but it’s gone too fast. He wonders if the Muses are also trained in not missing those who have left them.

“Mark is an exemplary warrior,” Kook agrees, but there’s a bitter smile on his lips. “And I guess we have no other choice but to accept Uranis in our midst.”

Seokjin nods, and they get to business, discussing the recent development in Seungcheol’s crew work. There is a new unit inside Kim’s precinct, and they use smart-tech that is possible to be tapped into, and Seventeen has been working on it for the past two weeks.

Yoongi heard about the unit from Taeyong, but he’s always too vague in his reports, constantly asking for more time to do recon. There’s something there, something he wishes to deal with himself, and it annoys Yoongi to no end, yet he stays silent. Taeyong is a big boy, smarter than all of the Underworld combined, and he’ll ask for help if he ever needs it.

He thinks about Jimin. He disappeared down the corridor as soon as they arrived, and Yoongi didn’t even have time to ask how he feels. He only sighed and sent Ten after him, asking Calaïs to watch out since Jimin’s mood has been undergoing constant changes throughout the day.

And to think that Yoongi almost got him out of it. He helped him unload and feel free, yet it seemed to have shattered the second Jimin’s phone rang.

They almost kissed.

He allows this thought to manifest and stick itself to the walls of his mind.

They were inches apart, and all it would've taken was a movement from either one of them. He would know how it feels, and he would know if he is right about Jimin carrying a god inside, and he would know if he can do it — touch such a hurricane and survive.

_**He does not wish to run; he’s already running.** _

_What are you running away from, Jiminie? And why do you keep ending up in my arms every time you stop?_

He thinks about the fascinated look Jimin had on him today at the _SHINee_. It’s familiar for Yoongi to see them all bickering and pushing each other around, laughing and having fun, but he knows what they can turn into when presented with a threat. They only laugh because they know the taste of blood upon their lips. They only fool around because they know they can be dead any minute. They only enjoy life because they know its price.

Jimin saw the bright side. He never witnessed the true face of their life.

_**Because he’s strong enough to handle my life, but I’m not strong enough to see what it can turn him into.** _

Is _he_ selfish? Is he afraid of putting his trust in Jimin handling it all even when he sees what they truly are?

He must have some idea already, what with all the curses and guns around, but it still feels not enough. The only way Jimin can truly understand them is when he is faced with death, but Yoongi will take his last breath before he lets it happen.

He can’t control him. He can’t order him no to think or feel something, and it’s only a matter of time before Jimin comes to grasp the truth.

Fuck, Yoongi himself promised to show him his true self just this morning. A lot of shit has happened since, but he doesn’t think he can back out of it now. He needs to be honest if he hopes to have even a slightest chance of protecting his boy.

Jesus. Do Jungkook’s thoughts sound the same? Like a whipped poetic schoolboy, daydreaming about his crush and vowing to always be near them?

Only Jungkook’s vow will be truly spoken soon, and he somehow got around the paralyzing fear that loving a civilian inevitably brings. He closes his eyes briefly and sighs quietly, choosing to focus on the business for now.

“Once again,” Jisoo says when he tunes back in. “It’s not like I don’t like the casino having double security, but you need to teach your people how to behave. We’re not a fucking hostel, Namjoon. They keep treating my girls like their servants. I have given them permission to punch, if you want to know.”

Namjoon rubs his eyes and looks at Seokjin for an answer with his eyebrows raised. Jin presses his lips together and sighs.

“I will have a word with my crews, Nemesis,” he says diplomatically before turning to Taeyong. “I assume you will make the same promise?”

Taeyong raises his eyebrows and tilts his head towards Yoongi, seeing as he is in the charge of their force. Yoongi clenches his fists behind his back.

“My people are disciplined enough to begin with,” he purrs smugly. “And if they weren’t, I had a talk with them before we started this little exchange program.”

“That is true,” Rosé says with a smile. “They’re just precious. That muscular man, he’s the politest criminal I’ve ever met.”

“Wonho, probably.” Yoongi nods with a smirk. “Sounds like him.”

Jin rolls his eyes with a huff but quickly collects himself. He turns to Hyuna with a challenging expression.

“I hope everything is alright at the Triple H, Artemis?”

“Splendid, thank you.” Hyuna’s red lips stretch into a dangerous smile, her hands playing with her scarf. “Besides, we can deal with our own messes, so adding new guards is a courtesy we allowed, not a favor we needed.”

Yoongi snickers quietly. It seems like everybody has their grudges with Seokjin. It’s no wonder. The man is everywhere, and some people don’t like their businesses interrupted. He’s still the right hand of their most powerful asset, so nobody will ever make an open complaint.

“May I remind you all,” Jungkook suddenly raises his voice. “That you’re all here because we allow you to. We’re not business partners. You report to us. Let us not forget who’s in charge.”

Yoongi blinks, his surprised expression mirrored on Seokjin’s face. He looks over the members. Everybody except for Taeyong look taken aback but collect themselves quickly.

“We understand that some changes may be inconvenient,” Kook continues, his fingers intertwined before him on the table. “But it is a necessity. You have all gone soft in the last years. Don’t you remember how it was like when Father’s reign was still strong?”

It has the desired effect, especially evident on Triple H. Hyojong’s smirk disappears, and Hyuna looks down, her face grim. Everybody remembers that they were nothing some ten years ago.

The only people who weren’t surviving on scrapes, having their bodies sold, or serving as lap dogs, are those who belonged to the Family, and even they were miserable, haunted forever by the shadow of Cronus’ control. Yoongi knows how it was, having been one of those lap dogs, and he remembers seeing the misery in the face of every Olympus sibling he saw in the halls of the manor. The only one Cronus ever loved in that house was Jennie, and she paid for that relationship with her life.

“Zeus rebuilt this city.” Jungkook voice is grave and hollow. “Mnemosyne stood beside him handing the tools. And you all will respect that, or you can leave this city and never come back.” He looks over their faces, examining each of them carefully. “And it concerns _everyone_ here.” He turns his head to look at Yoongi from the corner of his eye briefly, and Yoongi freezes. The fuck?

It’s dead silent, Hades’ speech having made an excellent impression. Seokjin looks like he’s grateful but is too proud to show it. Yoongi takes a deep breath through his nose. He’s angry at being scolded but the only rational part of his brain that managed to survive all his rage attacks reminds him that Hades is his boss first, and brother — second. That part sounds suspiciously like Jimin, and isn’t that a wonder.

He regains his calm. He’ll find out what’s up with Kook later, and for now he needs to remember that he’s Ares, and there’s an image he needs to uphold as one of the main representatives of the Underworld. He looks down at Taeyong subtly, but the guy is silent, staring in front of himself, as if he expected this. Maybe, he even was the one who inspired it. It pangs, but Yoongi has to remind himself that Taeyong is the brains, and he is the brawn. Right.

He looks up at Seunghyun, but Athene looks like his mind isn’t even here. Well.

“I respect you, Hades,” Seungcheol says, and Yoongi recalls their conversation this morning. Seventeen are independent, Aether having built his business on his own, but he still had support from both gangs, a blessing after Cronus only treating him like “the tech guy”. If not for the Agreement, he wouldn’t have his team and friends, and especially not his husband. “And you are right. We need not divide. We have a common enemy, and if you just give me more time, I will get that enemy’s secrets.”

“Nobody is rushing, Aether.” Jungkook takes a deep breath and seems to relax more. He strokes his ring finger, smiling to himself. Even the memory of his ring on Taehyung’s finger seems to make him feel better. “Just make sure it’s a priority. I wouldn’t have this drag out for more than it should.”

It figures. He hasn’t spoken to him yet, but if Yoongi was him, he wouldn’t want to have a wedding in the middle of this mess.

“Has anyone had any more of the Yago cases?” Hoseok asks, bringing the attention back to the case. “Apart from some minor inconvenience at the docs, everything is quiet on my side.”

Minor inconvenience. Yoongi almost snorts.

“We had one more last week,” Taeyong responds quietly. Yoongi frowns. He put the guy down himself, his mind way too occupied with not seeing Jimin to even remember the incident after it has occurred. “Same thing. Tried attacking some of our people on the street a few blocks away from the hotel. Had nothing else to say apart from some cursing, died shortly after being captured.”

Well. Died. More like, had his head bashed in because Yoongi didn’t have the patience to listen to what he had to say about him and his mother. The body will never appear again.

“It almost seemed fake,” Taeyong continues.

“What do you mean?” Hobi asks, frowning. He’s clenching and unclenching his fists, an old habit that Yoongi is accustomed to. It feels almost nostalgic. He needs to visit him more.

“Yoongi was at the scene.”

“Yah,” he agrees, shaking his head. “I didn’t notice it at the time, but the guys told me that before they took him, he kept changing his mood. Like that chemical ordered him to lash out, but some part of his mind still lived.”

“Like the drug wasn’t fully effective?” Seunghyun wonders, and it’s the first thing that he said since they started.

Yoongi nods, and Athene exchanges a glance with Seokjin. The latter looks grim.

“Hypnos reported that someone stole a drug he was working on,” he starts slowly. “He started developing it to try his hand at mind control. But he never finished it.”

“Who has access to his lab?” Hwitaek leans forward.

“People we already checked out.” Seokjin purses his lips, shaking his head. “He has a new assistant, but she’s legit and appeared only after the theft.”

“And by that time Jiyong already destroyed the prototype,” Seunghyun weighs in.

“So it’s getting weaker,” Hyuna notes, frowning. “It’s either wearing off, or they tried to duplicate it and failed.”

“Or,” Hyojong breathes out. “They’re watering it down.”

“Why isn’t Hypnos here?” Seungcheol suddenly asks, and Yoongi feels trouble even before it starts. “Surely, he could give us more details about his own creation.”

“In fact,” Hyuna bites her lip. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen him outside his lab.”

Seunghyun takes a deep breath, looking straight ahead.

“He’s not comfortable with leaving its confines.”

“Or he isn’t allowed?” Hwitaek murmurs, but looks away quickly, Jungkook’s words still fresh in his mind. Seunghyun is behind him, so he misses the look he’s granted with.

“In any case,” Taeyong says, successfully preventing the possible fight. “If we care to venture a guess, they’re losing their advantage. Either they’re running out of their poison, or they’re moving on to another method.”

“I’m guessing an open attack,” Seungcheol speaks up. “I’m hearing chatter about some old guard people popping out here and there. Maybe, someone is trying to get them back together.”

“They’re still a little pissed about us taking over,” Yoongi agrees. “But they’re too few to be a threat.”

“You, too, were a few,” comes a new voice, and Yoongi looks over to where Yuta is still motionless, his voice quiet but strong. For some time there, he forgot the Muse was even present. “At the beginning,” he continues, tilting his head. “You went into hell with just a handful of people.”

He was probably a kid back then, and Yoongi wonders where he was when the Underworld appeared. He knows Seokjin only started gathering his kids a few years ago, and Yuta looks like one of those who knows damn well how unforgiving the streets can be. Yoongi wonders if they crossed paths in the past.

“You’re right,” Taeyong notes, smiling softly, encouraging the boy. “At the beginning, we had only a handful of loyal people, and we managed just fine against the old guard before the backup appeared.”

Yoongi remembers that time all too well, and he wonders if it’s wise to bring it up now, considering Namjoon’s people only came to help by the end of it all. It was Kook’s pride, of course, that prevented it from happening sooner, but the mood is still sour whenever they talk about it.

“In any case, it would be unwise to ignore that,” Jungkook says. “Is the weapon system still in place?”

“The system?” Hyojong asks, his brow furrowed.

“Yeah, we came up with something,” Jisoo hums, her face thoughtful. “When it all started, Ares and I decided it’s wise for one of us to be present at every shipment even remotely connected to weapons.”

Yoongi nods, exchanging a glance with her.

“We’ve developed the system that only two of us are aware of, and they’re stored in a secure locations,” he recounts. “Nemesis already had a few of those to place the weapons she confiscates at the hotel.”

Seokjin nods, his face calculating as he looks at Rosé.

“I am aware, yes, we’ve talked with Tyche about that recently.” He bites his lips. “We’re good, then, as long as you keep those vaults secure, and our own are protected.”

“The Underwold’s security system is wired into its inhabitants technologically as well as magically,” Taeyong speaks. Yeah, those protections are good, as long as they’re not attacking innocent people. He takes a deep breath and remembers it’s not fully Jungwoo’s magic that did what it did to Jimin. “The only threat we can anticipate is betrayal of the closest to us, and call me an optimist, but that isn’t happening anytime soon.”

There’s a grim silence over a table, like every time the meeting comes to a close and they have made no decisions apart from recounting everything already said, and Yoongi grits his teeth to keep from snapping at them. Jungkook was right. They’ve all gone soft, spoiled by the years of blessings and an unbreakable peace. Now that their positions are threatened, they can’t even gather themselves to fight back properly. It’s been a month of pointless talking, but Jisoo and Seungcheol are the only ones apart from the Underworld who had attempted to do something. Seokjin seems concerned yet he’s only spilling words, his actions focused elsewhere. Yoongi doesn’t know what the Olympians do in their free time, but he doesn’t care as long as they remember what they need to protect.

It’s a pattern, really. The Underworlders have the loss and the blood still fresh in their mind. They fought tooth and nail for what they have now, and they appreciate it and never forget its worth. He would expect the carelessness from Helios and Iris, but not from Triple H, who only became the bosses themselves a few years ago. He looks over to them. Maybe, he’s wrong about those three. They keep together, not unlike to how Jungkook, Taeyong, and him do, and they achieved their freedom and wealth themselves, with Olympus only weighing in much later when they asked to have the club given to them. Even so, they need to act.

All of them do, or else everybody here is doomed.

VIII

  
Jimin cautiously checks over the corner and breathes out when he sees that it’s clear. It’s dumb and annoying, and he’ll have to face Taehyung eventually, but he’d rather have it happen later than sooner.

He doesn’t know what it is, he think as he walks down the corridor to the elevator. He’s not the one to run from a fight, and he always prefers to deal with problems as soon as they appear, and he hates pondering on shit. He’s always making quick decisions and then dealing with consequences because it’s better than breaking your brain over what to do and say. Impulsive dumbassery, his father would say. Like he’s in any position to give Jimin advice.

He presses a button and waits for the doors to open before checking the corridor again and getting in. His last visit here was a hazy experience, nevermind that it was just yesterday, but he thinks he can remember the number of the floor he needs.

And it’s Taehyung. It’s not some random guy he needs to tell to piss off, or a professor that keeps assigning way more than anyone can handle, and it’s not Yoongi with Jimin’s feelings for him changing every other hour.

It’s Taehyung. His amazing, loving best friend. He is the only one who was always there when Jimin needed him, and he always believed in him and got him through his nightmares. Before Yoongi, it was him who could make Jimin fall asleep, and it feels like he’s forgetting the true worth of their friendship. In the past days, he’s been so preoccupied with his own shit that he didn’t notice when Taehyung fell so hard in love he agreed to marry into a criminal family.

Is Yoongi right? Is Jimin being selfish?

It’s silent in the hotel, and he wonders if it’s because of a meeting — like parents tell their kids to behave when guests come over, only gang bosses tell their subordinates to not kill anyone too loudly while the others are visiting.

Tae is his soulmate. The boy who saw him that day in school standing all alone and came up to him, offering his hand, and it felt so familiar and right that Jimin didn’t hesitate before wrapping his palm around Tae’s fingers. They’ve been inseparable ever since.

And now it’s changing.

Fuck. Is he afraid of Tae forgetting about him once he’s married, just like Jimin keeps forgetting about him whenever he’s with Yoongi? Is it even possible? To find your heart, but lose your soul? Jimin is so afraid of finding it out that he decides to avoid Taehyung for as long as possible. He’s an asshole. A big one.

The doors open, and he steps out, noting how quiet it is on the ninth floor. Half the inhabitants are downstairs now, and the only one he can possibly meet is Ten, but he’s pretty sure he heard Yoongi send the man after Jimin, so they’ll cross paths soon enough anyway.

He doesn’t know why he needs babysitting. He feels fine. Splendid, even. There’s no headache or fire inside, he doesn’t have the urge to kill everyone here and then himself, and he is actually enjoying looking over intricate yet simplistic design of the hotel’s interior. Yoongi made sure to repeat like three times that he’s inviting Jimin inside, that he’s welcome here, and that he’s a friend, so that the protection doesn’t even have a loophole to attack Jimin. He rolls his eyes fondly at the memory, feeling a smile tug at his lips.

Another memory tries to make its way to the surface, but he isn’t letting it. It was stupid. He shouldn’t have gotten so close. So what if he wants it? He’s an asshole but he needs to break up with Tony before even attempting to do anything about... That.

He rounds the corner, looking for the room he needs, but as soon as he catches the sight of the door across the corridor, he feels panic rise in him. Taehyung is locking what Jimin presumes to be Hades’ quarters. Shit.

He dives into the nearest room, grateful that it’s open, and closes the door behind him as softly as he can. He presses his ear to the door and hears Tae’s soft steps. He’s humming something under his nose happily as he walks, and Jimin closes his eyes, cursing himself for not being able to face his best friend and congratulate him on probably the happiest event of his life.

He can’t. Not yet. He needs to sort out his thoughts, or else he’ll say something they both will regret.

He turns around, remembering that he just broke into someone’s apartment.

It is, however, a familiar one. He smiles to himself as he watches a pile of his clothes and backpack on Yoongi’s bed, probably brought in by someone while they were away.

He looks around. He didn’t have enough time or energy to study Yoongi’s room yesterday, but now he’s hungry for every detail. It somehow feels familiar and right, like it’s not the first time he’s snooping around. He frowns.

Is he? Snooping? He’s not going to take anything, and Yoongi can do what he wants in Jimin’s room, he figures that it’s mutual. He bites his lip and puts his hands together, suddenly wary. Is it possible that Yoongi has cameras in his room?

Wouldn’t that be kind of voyeuristic? He blinks, suddenly uncomfortable and slightly annoyed by the thought of Yoongi bringing hookups here.

Where did that thought even come from? He shakes his thought and steps further, the sound swallowed by a large carpet. It’s soft and black, and it would look too much in someone else’s room, but somehow it fits Yoongi.

There’s a simple but big wardrobe near the window, and a small table with a mirror on the other side. This room isn’t that big, but he sees two entrances across from the bed. He comes closer, his gaze caught by a pig painting between two doors.

It takes up half the wall, and it looks like it’s mounted into it. It’s Mount Olympus. Zeus on his throne, and the Pantheon gods around him, all of them in varying poses and with different face expressions. His eyes immediately fall on Ares in the bottom, his hands raised towards Zeus in an unknown plea. Jimin feels strength radiating from him, the power hidden in the armor and in the creases of muscles. His face is half-turned, but it seems like he’s saying something to Zeus.

“Probably asking him to quit his bullshit,” Jimin murmurs to himself with a chuckle.

He looks a little bit to the left. Ares may be talking to Zeus, but his face is turned to his side, toward the god closest to him. There, with Ares’ hand curled around his waist, is the one haunting Jimin. Aphrodite, his beauty palpable, his robes hugging his frame as he smiles down at a Cupid. They look like they belong together.

He tears his gaze away and swallows. The first door is open, showing a small room that looks too dark for his liking, but he doubts Yoongi would hide bodies here. Jimin pulls the switch and almost screams out when the room suddenly gets illuminated. It’s an armory, intricate weapons of all kinds covering the walls. He comes inside, his heart beating. It seems like Yoongi favors guns of all kinds, judging by the amount of them in their shelves, but there’s a small section with knives and daggers. There’s even a bow and arrows, with a crossbow right beside it. The gem of the collection, though, is what’s in the glass case at the farthest wall.

He takes a hesitant step toward it, clutching his necklace and feeling his heart beat out a staccato.

It’s a sword. Beautiful, ancient sword, preserved only by the fact that nobody is using it. It doesn’t look rusted, but there’s something that tells Jimin that, unlike all other weapons here, this one isn’t for using in battle. Not in this world. It looks sharp and glinting, but he just gets the feeling... The feeling.

There’s a beautiful pattern on the handle encrusted with rubies and tourmalines. It looks like a sword deserving the most vengeful of gods. He sighs and looks away, to the shelf with daggers. There, in the center, is a familiar blade, and he smiles, taking it off and weighing it in his hands. It belongs to him, after all.

He leaves the room, the dagger securely in the holster he found near it, and goes to the second one. He feels like a creep, but the overwhelming curiosity takes the better of him.

It’s another bedroom, but this one is smaller and seems to be used as a closet, clothes thrown around and books on every available surface. They look old and dusted, and Jimin wonders if Yoongi actually reads them or just collects them.

There’s a huge bathroom on the left, and Jimin sees an outline of a tub from the crack in the door.

Now that would be invasion of privacy, so he doesn’t go in. He goes back to the bedroom, taking his backpack and rummaging through it. There are sheets of paper he completely forgot about, and he remembers with dread that he wanted to spend the weekend working on his project. Shit.

Might as well start now, he thinks. Yoongi’s bed looks comfortable, and he decides that sitting on it won’t make the man mad. He takes out his notes and starts going through them, reading over the events again.

It still seems strange that nothing survived the fire. Even the Great Fire left behind buildings and records, yet this city burned down to the ground, leaving only ashes in its wake. He remembers Carthage, sowed with salt after its fall, and wonders if the Romans came back to take their last revenge.

Who would to this to a city full of people, life, and joy? It couldn’t have been a domestic fire, because there’s no way it would cause such destruction. He doesn’t know if there were any factories that would blow up, but the librarian said there were no records of absolutely anything, and any kind of manufacture would leave something in the soil. Yet nothing is in the ground, nothing is in the records, and nothing is in the memory.

Was there even anything? He takes a deep breath, counting in his head. His father claimed to have grown up here, and he was born way before the fire happened. How is it possible? Of course, his dad isn’t the most reliable source of information, but there were others — parents, teachers, old citizens who all say they were always here.

How could they have lived in the place that didn’t exist? How could they have survived the disaster that wiped out everything and not remember a shred of it? What happened almost forty years ago, and why has nobody ever mentioned it apart from a librarian he accidentally met?

He doesn’t realize when he falls asleep, consumed by thoughts. The familiar smell of Yoongi lulls him to unconscious, and he dreams of flowers and fire. It’s warm and pleasant, and he wants to touch, but someone takes his hand away, and he feels cold all over, and his lungs fill with blood, and he looks up to see his sun before dying.

He wakes up in cold sweat, jerking up and panting. Fuck. He blinks a few times, his eyes dry because he didn’t take out his contacts, and rubs his forehead, the headache coming over him. It takes a few moments to remember where he is, and he takes a few deep breath to steady himself. He’s fine.

He gathers his papers and puts them in the backpack, not caring if they get crinkled. He pauses before his jacket, thinking that it would be logical to take off Yoongi’s and wear his own. Jimin bites his lips and leaves it be. He’ll come back after it some other time.

There’s still nobody in the hall when he goes down, and he wonders for how long he slept. He checks his phone and sees a few texts from Yoongi, his panic about Jimin not responding barely covered by his attempt to type with full stops. Jimin smiles and thinks there’s no point in responding if he’s gonna see him in a minute.

He passes a few people on his way to Jungkook’s office but they pay him no mind. It’s weirdly nice. It makes him feel like he belongs here. It’s probably wearing Ares’ clothes that gives him a silent pass.

The door is wide open when he reaches it, and he goes to knock anyway before hearing an angry voice. He pauses, his hand still in the air. He doesn’t want to eavesdrop but it feels that he won’t be met with a warm welcome if he announces his presence. He sees Taeyong’s back, and Yoongi comes into his line of vision, his angry pacing sending shivers down Jimin’s spine, but nobody sees him from where he’s standing.

“What the fuck was that for?” Yoongi asks angrily, his hands balled up in fists.

There’s a sigh. Taeyong puts his elbows on his stomach, one of his palms rubbing his forehead.

“Yoongi,” he starts cautiously. “We have to show Seokjin that we’re on his side. Don’t you realize that the Olympus can snatch the advantage at any minute?”

“I understand that.” Yoongi enunciates every syllable. Kinda hot. Focus, Jimin. “But a little warning would be nice before scolding me like a fucking kindergartener before half the brass of this city.”

“It wasn’t targeted at you.” It’s Jungkook, his voice tired but still powerful. “I needed to let _everyone_ know that they only have what they have because we’re allowing them. I needed to throw you there, too, otherwise it would look like I don’t hold my people accountable.”

Yoongi stops pacing, taking deep breaths. He puts his hand through his hair, messing it up. Jimin smiles a little. He’s cute when he’s frustrated.

“And I’m sorry, I really am.” Jungkook sighs. “But it needed to be done. We didn’t warn you because you were... Away.”

Yoongi snorts, and Jimin sees the corners of Taeyong’s lips turn up.

“How’s that going, by the way?”

Jimin almost gives himself out by gasping but he contains himself in time. It’s Taehyung, his deep voice unmistakable. Is he present at the boss meetings now, too? There’s an annoying thought — _it figures, he’s going to be one of them soon_ — but he doesn’t let that travel further.

Yoongi sighs in frustration.

“My life would be so much easier if everyone I know didn’t gossip about my love life,” he murmurs, rubbing his eyes. Love life? Is he dating someone? When? He’s spending all his time with Jimin.

Well, not all. He’s been away for three weeks. Jimin feels an irrational urge to come in and smack him.

Or is it possible… That Yoongi is talking about him?

He tries to look at it objectively, his mind racing. There is no way Yoongi can be attracted to him, not while he’s still clinging to the fantasy about the Aphrodite inside of him. Jimin is constantly reminded of it, no matter how much he pushes back, and literally just today he was called _that_ name again, and… Just yesterday Yoongi told him that he _knows_ Jimin will become Aphrodite one way or another, and he can’t wait for it.

Only it wasn’t Yoongi who called him that, it was Taemin.

Only it wasn’t all that Yoongi said — he added that he doesn’t care if he’s there to witness Jimin’s rebirth. He just thinks Jimin is worthy of it. It no longer is his primary reason for sticking with him.

Only it wasn’t just a random guy who almost kissed Jimin today, making him want to kiss back.

He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. Is it possible? For Yoongi to like him, just because he’s _him_?

“Love life?” Taehyung, as he tends to, echoes Jimin’s thoughts, and he’s reminded of how much he’s grateful to have him in his life. “Wait, did something happen?”

Jimin waits eagerly for a reply, but it never comes. He sees Taeyong turn to Yoongi with a sly smirk.

“Something _did_ happen,” he purrs, leaning back just in time to avoid Yoongi hitting him in the arm. He stumbles into someone hidden from view, and he sees hands wrapping protectively over Taeyong. Jimin guesses it’s Ten.

“Shut up, please, nothing happened,” Yoongi pleads. “And we’re not here to discuss that. It’s a business meeting.”

“Sure,” Jungkook snorts. “As I was saying, I need to have Jin close. The further he is away from us, the more he’ll be able to find out about Taehyung. And we don’t need that in the middle of this whole mess.”

“What if I...” Tae says, but he doesn’t get to finish it.

“No, sorry.” Taeyong’s face is sad as he’s leaning against Ten’s chest. “I know what you’re going to say, and there is no way you can go public until the wedding. We need to have you protected from every possible angle before Persephone comes into picture.”

Jimin grits his teeth, feeling angry and hurt. They’re already discussing _that_? Gods. It’s annoying, and frustrating, and he feels left out, and maybe it’s his fault — yet it still hurts.

“I won’t bring my fiance into the world on the brink of war,” Jungkook announces firmly, and Jimin is grateful to him, no matter how much he wants to hate him. “And Yoongi, would you want to bring Jimin into the world consumed by petty feuds? That can affect him?”

What is that supposed to mean? Why is the decision up to Yoongi? Why do they even think that Jimin _wants_ to join them?

“I want to talk to Jimin first, in any case,” Taehyung says quietly, and Jimin almost misses it. He feels his eyes sting. “I’m not leaving him alone out there, but I’m not dragging him here until it’s what _he_ wants.”

Jimin closes his eyes and feels a smile. Oh, Tae-Tae.

“Where’s Jimin, anyway?” Yoongi asks, pulling out his phone. Shit.

“He’s sleeping in your room,” Ten reports, and Jimin bites his lips. “I found him just like you asked and figured I’d let him rest.”

“Thanks,” Yoongi murmurs, grateful. “I’ll go up to him in a few minutes. Or, Tae?”

There’s a sigh, and Jimin feels guilt creep up into his heart. He hears rustling of clothes.

“Jimin needs time,” Tae starts, his voice muffled. “He’s impulsive and irrational, and he may hurt someone without even noticing it at first, but he always knows that his harsh words hit where it hurts. If I know him, and I like to believe that I do, he’s waiting until he gets his thoughts in order. Otherwise, he might end up saying things we both will regret.”

There’s silence, and even if they were talking, Jimin wouldn’t know. His vision is blurry, and he wipes at his eyes to get rid of his tears. This boy knows him better than himself, and he’s ready to forgive the silence. And Jimin can’t even bring himself to start thinking about it. He’s the most terrible friend, he realizes, and he doesn’t deserve Tae.

“It’s a big change,” Taehyung continues. “And huge news. I will not pressure him into talking to me, and I ask you not to do that, too. I know he’s happy for me. He just needs to come to terms with it.”

It’s enough. He needs to either enter the room or leave, because he feels like he’s about to break down. He turns around quietly, about to leave, when he catches the last phrase.

“That’s why you need to wait too, Yoon,” Tae says softly. “He already knows what you need him to know. He just has to accept it.”

Jimin doesn’t want to listen to any more of this, so he leaves, his steps a whisper.

He reaches the bar before he can think that he wanted to go there. It’s afternoon, and he sees people walk around, preparing the club for the night. The main dance floor is in another room, and he’s never been there, so he decides to pay it a visit before it’s crowded. It’s half-dark there, overhead lights dimmed while there’s no patrons, and he expertly avoids bumping into waiters and cleaners. They, just like the gang members, let him walk around, and he wonders if they were informed about him, or they just assume that anyone who comes from the inside of the building is safe. Or, he thinks as one of the waiters measures his jacket before quickly looking away, it’s the fact that he’s wearing something belonging to Ares — a jacket that Yoongi used to wear all the time, as he said. Jimin smirks and bites his lips. It feels powerful.

He shakes his head and goes across the dance pool, enjoying the absence of a sweaty crowd. He twirls a little, reveling in all the space. Dancing makes him feel better, and he remembers Hoseok sharing the secret with him — imagine that you’re dancing for the love of your life, and if that’s too hard — remember that you are the one worthy to be your greatest love. He huffs, realizing that all this time he’s been taking dance and life advice from a fucking Poseidon. That’s powerful.

He decides to go back to the bar when his phone rings. It’s probably Yoongi, he thinks with a smile as he pulls out his phone, but the name on the screen makes his face fall. Pressuring much?

“Yes,” he responds, putting as much ice in his voice as he can.

“Baby, hey,” Tony says, and he sounds breathless. There’s wind, and Jimin can barely hear him. “How are you?”

“Not a lot has changed since we last saw each other four hours ago,” Jimin deadpans. A lot has changed, of course, but he isn’t willing to share that with Tony. As a matter of fact, he’s no longer willing to share anything with Tony. It’s scary how fast he came to this revelation, and how much he wants to ask the guy to leave his life. A month ago, he thought they were in love. Today, he isn’t even sure he knows what love really is.

“Jimin.” It’s hard, and hurt, and he flinches, feeling slightly guilty. It’s not his fault Jimin’s feelings has changed. And he never found out what happened to Tony that made him avoid Jimin, and shit… It’s too hard. He just wants to take another nap.

“Listen, Tony, I’m sorry, but you’re crossing the line.”

He walks closer to the bar, noticing dozens of pictures. Probably happy patrons’ most embarrassing and glorious moments. He looks over them, trying to distract his mind from how he wants to snap at his boyfriend.

“I asked you to give me time — you come to my house.” Parties, raves, drinks, cigarettes. Happy red faces. “I ask you to leave me alone and see me in a week — you start calling.” He reaches the set of pictures from what he assumes is a Halloween party. “I need space. You’re not even letting me breathe.”

Tony sighs, but Jimin can’t bring himself to feel guilty. He sees a few pictures that look blurry but if he looks close enough, he can distinguish the faces.

“I just want to sort everything out so that we can get back to normal,” Tony says, and the wind is still strong in the background.

“Is there even a normal with us?” Jimin murmurs, but he can’t even think of why he did it — he sees a photo that makes his insides freeze.

Tony starts saying something, but Jimin feels like someone has plugged his nerves into a wire system and turned the electricity full on.

It’s impossible.

He doesn’t listen to the bullshit Tony is spewing at him, because he can’t tear his gaze away. He takes the picture off the wall to look at it closer, and it’s obvious he can’t be mistaken.

Jimin has never been to the Underworld Hotel before coming here that night to try and get Taehyung out. He knew about it, but it always felt too intimidating to even get close. He has never stepped foot in this place.

Yet here, in his hand, is a picture, the one of three boys dressed as Harry Potter characters. They’re happy and drunk, smiling at the camera as they hang off each other, yelling something out.

One of them is dressed as Draco Malfoy, Slytherin robes messed up but still recognizable, blonde hair slicked back up. He looks pale and tired, black circles under his eyes, and there’s something that feels like he’s being haunted by nightmares he doesn’t want to tell anyone about.

Jimin knows that look. Jimin has that look. He never thought it’s visible, but the proof is here, in his hand, where his own face is staring at him from the picture taken at the Halloween Party at the Underworld Hotel.

He was here. And he does not remember a shred of it.

VIII

  
_He’s just a kid, they say, barely ten, yet his father already insists that he’s trained like every other teen. Namjoon is looking gravely at him every time they meet in the training rooms but he doesn’t object. He has his own ways of standing up to father, and he wishes to maintain the illusion of obedience for a little bit longer. Jungkook doesn’t know how he knows that but it’s evident that he’s right by the look on Seokjin’s face. Father still thinks them teenagers, but he’s gravely wrong, of that Jungkook is sure._

_The only one openly objecting to his brother being trained into an assassin is Hoseok. He’s scratching and yelling when they try to subdue him, but he’s quite strong for a fourteen-year-old so he gets out and tries to drag his little Kookie out of there to keep him safe. Jungkook frowns and stands his ground._

_“Father says I have to train, Hobi,” he says quietly, not enjoying the pained look on his brother’s face in the slightest. But it has to be done. “Then I will train.”_

_He goes back to the mat, getting into position and facing his trainer with a determined look. He hears Hobi scream out in frustration and storm out, and it hurts. Yet it has to be done._

_He’s eleven now, and he’s barely learned how to disassemble a gun when father says he wishes to speak to him for the first time in months. Jungkook doesn’t want to be hopeful for it is known to him — Father does not enjoy his company. Yet he still cannot rid his heart of the attachment to the man, no matter how much it pains him whenever his attempts at gentleness are met with the steel walls. He takes a deep breath and goes into his father’s office._

_It’s dark in there, maroon velvet curtains drawn, with only a red lamp illuminating a small batch of the room. His father is on the other side of the room, something cradled in his arms. Kook gets curious, but knows to stay silent. His father’s rage is stronger than his indifference to his youngest son. He keeps his eyes downcast and hears someone come in with a soft smell of hyacinths._

_“I’ll take him now,” Jennie says, her hands softly going over Jungkook’s hair as she passes. He loves Jennie — she is kind and smiling, and she always finishes their training sessions with a treat. He looks up in time to see her take the thing his father was holding._

_It’s a boy. Barely three by the looks of him, sleeping soundlessly with his hair falling on his eyes. Jennie takes him gently in her arms and bows to Cronus. When she passes Jungkook, he can’t resist the temptation to look at he boy’s face. Just as he does that, the kid opens his eyes, and they lock gazes for a bare second, yet it’s all that takes for Jungkook to startle. Jennie is gone before he can process his reaction, and he looks at his father, blinking rapidly._

_“Come here, boy,” Cronus says, sitting down on the armchair heavily._

_Jungkook takes a few careful steps and stands before the man that brought him into this world, feeling like a five-year-old again, crying because there is nothing but hatred in the man’s eyes._

_Today, there’s only calmness. He is, Jungkook comes to grasp, resigned. He doesn’t know what moves him, but he sits down on the floor, his palms on his knees._

_“Father.” His voice is bright and strong, because he feels like every move of his is scrutinized and judged._

_He feels his father’s hand on his neck, squeezing too tightly to be gentle. He stays silent._

_“You are growing, boy.”_

_Boy. He never calls him by his name. Jungkook greets his teeth._

_“Under your guidance, father,” he answers, remembering every lesson that Namjoon has taught him._

_Cronus chuckles, letting go of his neck. Jungkook dares to look up and sees how he unholsters his gun, extending his hand towards his son._

_“They tell me you already know how to handle it.”_

_Kook frowns, taking a deep breath. He’s afraid._

_All his life, he was learning to stay away from Cronus, to hide in the shadows of the manor, growing without light yet with purpose. And now, when faced with the man that, he learned too early, despises him, he does not know how to act. He hears Joonie in his head, telling him to suck it up and obey, for the time to strike back has not yet arrived. He wonders if it will ever come to pass. Who would be brave and strong enough as to go after Cronus? More so, disobey the family order? Mother could, they say, but Jungkook never knew her._

_“I was not taught how to use it yet,” he confesses, breathing through his nose. “Only how to take it apart and back.”_

_“Then do it.”_

_He takes the gun and lets his muscle memory do the rest. His father carries a standard Glock G21, favoring simplicity over brand. It’s easy to handle it now that he’s been trained properly._

_He drops the magazine, remembering his safety lessons, and moves the slide forward. He pulls the trigger, wishing only for a fraction of second that the glock would still have bullets so that he could... Doesn’t matter._

_He feels the resistance and pulls down the takedown lever. Next is the recoil spring and barrel. It’s hard to do it without tools, but he doubts that asking to go get one will look good in Cronus’ eyes. Besides, he was taught that experienced gunslingers do not need anything except their hands and brains. He controls his breathing when pulling everything out, their resistance a little too much for his small hands. It goes down okay, though, and in his excitement he forgets about safety, and he is so happy that he may, after all, get his father’s approval, that he forgets about the backplate and pulls the extractor._

_It is a wrong way, he reflects, as it flies up and hits him in the eye, causing him to drop the gun and scream in pain. His hands fly up to his face but he can’t even cover it — there’s a hand on his wrist, pulling it away and gripping hard enough to leave bruises. He can’t open his eyes because the left one burns, but he knows he needs to._

_“Pain means you are alive, boy,” his father growls, close enough to his face that Jungkook feels his breath, sour and smelling of whiskey. “But if you succumb to it, you will lose.”_

_He can’t contain his sobs, and he is so afraid of punishment that he forces his eyes to open even though there are tears clouding his vision. His father’s face is cold as always, and so_ angry _yet it seems that the rage isn’t directed at Jungkook. It is something else._

_“Make yourself forget it,” he grits out. “Pain is a construct that you must be strong enough to break.”_

_It sounds mad, and he’s so rattled that he simply cannot understand what his father wants of him, but he grits his teeth and stays silent. Looks Cronus in the eyes and breathes in through his nose. His eye burns with pain, but he cannot admit that it exists._

_“Yes, Father,” he grunts. He can’t recognize his voice for it sounds too adult-like. “I will learn to break it.”_

_He swallows and swears then to never let this man see him cry again._

_Cronus nods and leans forward, assembling the Glock in a few seconds. Jungkook would be impressed if his mind wasn’t burning with the hatred._

_“Go back to your training,” he orders, leaning back in his chair and averting his gaze. It seems that he is now not even interested in looking at his son._

_Jungkook nods and stands up, his hands balled up in fists, and he almost leaves, but something stops him before the door. He knows asking can get him a punishment but he needs to know._

_“Dad,” he says softly, allowing himself to look weak. Maybe, it will remind Cronus that he is simply a child, and open his heart ever so slightly. Cronus looks up, surprised at such an informal title, his brow arched. “Who was that boy that Jennie took away?”_

_The man’s face hardens, and he stands up, walking over. Jungkook tenses and swallows, already thinking of a ways to escape the room before Cronus can get mad at him. His father surprises him, though. He puts his hand on Jungkook’s shoulder and sighs._

_“If I play this right,” he starts, licking his lips. “He will be our salvation.”_

_It makes Jungkook excited for some reason, and it is strange — do they need salvation? Are they in danger? His father’s gang is the most powerful syndicate in a five-state area. He frowns._

_“And if you don’t?” He asks, blinking. His eye still burns but it is mild now._

_Cronus looks him in the eye, and for the first time in all his life, Kook feels like he is truly seeing his son._

_“And if I don’t...”_

Jungkook blinks, the memory fading away. He doesn’t know what triggered it to come to mind now but it leaves something sour in his mouth. He could never regret his father passing away years earlier than it was predicted. He could also never really believe that it was truly the illness that took his life.

He thinks about Jennie. She was a beautiful vision, stable throughout his childhood in her grace, kindness, and deadlines. He doesn’t remember when she disappeared exactly but he knows that his heart gets filled with anger and remorse every time he thinks about it. Nobody could ever prove that Cronus had part in her sudden “death” but there was simply no other option. There was never a body, and they held a formal funeral with just a tombstone over an empty grave. Something else nags at his mind, something Jennie was holding that night, yet he cannot remember what it was under the influence of his father’s most important lesson. He had more, of course, but that one was the one that truly mattered.

Pain is a construct. And he long learned how to break it.

He tunes back into the conversation, and hears Taeyong bicker with Ten about some assignment he’s supposed to go on. He smiles. They’re always like this, and he wishes for that to never change.

“I wish we could meet sooner than we did,” Taehyung murmurs in his ear, and he squeezes his shoulder, turning his head slightly. They’re on the couch, Tae half-lying on him.

“Mhm,” he mumbles, content at having his _fiancé_ so close. “It happened like it was supposed to.”

“I know,” Tae whines, pressing closer. “But if someone would attend the parties he hosted, we would have met a lot sooner.”

Jungkook frowns, leaning back and looking at his face.

“What do you mean?” He frowns, something unsettling in his soul.

Tae blinks a few times and opens his mouth slightly.

“Didn’t I tell you?” He frowns and chuckles. “We were here on Halloween. You hosted that huge party? Jimin found the passes somewhere.”

Everything goes dead silent, and Jungkook looks away to exchange a glance with Yoongi. The latter seems frozen, his hand in mid-movement.

“What?” He whispers without turning his head. “Jimin was here?”

“Yeah, we all were.” Taehyung bites his lips and blinks, recalling. “He dragged Tony here, and we had fun, but Jimin suddenly got sick or something, so we left early.”

Taeyong and Ten are staring at Yoongi — his face looks ashen and dead. His lips are white as he finally looks at Taehyung.

“What happened next?” He says, his voice hollow.

“We went home?” Taehyung feels uneasy, suddenly scared. What’s wrong? Didn’t Jimin tell him? “Jimin broke up with Tony the next morning.”

Yoongi takes a shuddering breath and suddenly starts counting on his fingers. It would look ridiculous if it didn’t look terrifying. He goes to six, and then back again, and counts again. He looks up at Taehyung, squinting, his lips shaking.

“W-when did they start dating?” He half-whispers, and there is something so devastating in his eyes that Taehyung is scared of him for the first time. He stands up, walking over to Yoongi and reaching to put his hand on his shoulder, but it feels like Yoongi will shatter if someone touches him.

“The end of August, I think.” His voice is shaking, but he swallows and gets it under control. “He came back from visiting his dad at that mental hospital. There was this back-to-school party, and we went there, and a few days later he introduced Tony to me.”

Yoongi takes a step back, suddenly filled with energy brimming on the edges of his frame, and he turns around, putting his fist on the wall, hitting so hard the wood crashes. Taehyung wants to step away, but he can’t allow him to hurt himself — which is why he rushes to Yoongi’s side, hugging his frame.

“Yoon-Yoon, what’s wrong?” He’s scared, and confused, and nobody is saying anything, frozen in their shock, and it feels like if he’s not going to pull Yoongi back, he will fall down the dark hole he won’t be able to get out of.

“He doesn’t remember,” Yoongi whispers, his voice hoarse, and he looks up, his eyes as angry as Taehyung has ever seen. “He doesn’t remember that, Tae.”

“What do you mean?” Taeyong asks. “Maybe, he didn’t tell you?”

“No.” It’s hard and dark. “He told me he first met Tony five months ago.”

“When they got back together.” Taehyung steps away in shock, but Yoongi catches his hand, looking him in the eye, and it’s too much, and Taehyung feels Jungkook’s arms around his waist, and it feels safe all of a sudden.

“Somehow,” Yoongi grits out, “Someone messed with his mind, with his brilliant fucking mind, and they made him forget it. That… That Tony. _I fucking knew it._ ”

It’s dead silent again, only Yoongi’s labored breathing audible. He’s so mad Taehyung can physically feel it, and he presses closer to Kook to feel calmer. Yoongi looks like he’s planning a murder, and if he knows Yoongi — he never plans. He just charges in, head first, in the middle of the fight.

Taeyong comes forward, his hand clinging to Ten’s wrist as if he’s taking his strength from his boyfriend.

“How do you know this?” He says, his voice surprisingly steady.

“I— I don’t know yet.” Yoongi shakes his hand and rubs his face, getting himself back into shape. “But I will find out, and I swear I will destroy every little bitch who had a hand in this.”

He starts pacing and rubbing his face, ruffling his hair.

“Alright,” he breathes out and collects himself. Turns to them, and there’s not a trace of near hysteria he was in just a minute ago. “I’ve been noticing some things, and I need to check them out before we can move.”

Jungkook squeezes Taehyung’s waist and walks around him, coming close to Yoongi, Taeyong joining them, and in that moment, Taehyung sees the gods before the men, the true trio ruling this half of the city. If they wanted, they could have the entire thing, and even more, but they don’t, and that’s what Tae fell in love with — the Underwolders only use what they need, and if the Olympus loves power, these people here value something more. Family, and unity, and the love as they know and understand it. He remembers Kook telling him how they didn’t ask questions when Ten appeared — they just heard Taeyong’s story and went with it, adjusting their love and work around the new addition to the family. When Taehyung came here, they didn’t ask why or tried to drive him off — they shook his hand and welcomed him inside. And now, when Jimin is the one on the line, when Yoongi is the one asking to trust — they do.

“Tell us what you need us to do,” Taeyong says, his head straight.

“First, nobody breathes a word about this to Jimin,” Yoongi starts, swallowing. “Taehyung, I know you don’t like lying to him, but you managed to go months without triggering his memory, and I need you to do that a bit more.”  
Taehyung looks up in surprise and sees Ten look at him with the corners of his lips turned up. Yoongi is addressing him as an equal, as a part of this, and he felt it already, but now he sees it — they’ve accepted him.

“Okay,” he swallows, hugging his frame. He feels Ten’s hand on his shoulder, and it helps. They’re family now. “I’ll do what you need me to if it means Jimin comes out happy and whole out of this.”

“He will.” Yoongi nods curtly and turns to Ten. “I need you to go to Aether and ask him to pull every record he can on everything connected to Jimin in the past year. Go in person. Take my bike and jacket and wear a helmet. Nobody must know it’s someone but me. Leave as soon as we’re done here.”

He takes off his jacket and gives it to Ten along with his keys. Ten takes them with a nod and stays near Taeyong.

“Taeyong, I need you to pull the records from the club at the Halloween,” he asks, his breathing steady. “We will also need to take a blood sample from Jimin, and you’re the only one I trust to analyze it. If it was a chemical, it’s going to be there.”

“You think it is?” Ten wonders, frowning.

“We’ve had a lot of that shit around lately, haven’t we?”

“Besides,” Kook adds, the years he spent at med school kicking in. “If he still doesn’t remember anything, it’s either a chemical or a trauma-induced amnesia, or a combination of the two.”

“The incident with his father,” Taeyhung perks up, stepping closer. “Could have it been it?”

Yoongi shakes his head. “That was my first thought, but… That’s still a valid theory, though, we’ll work on it.”

“I still think there’s some drug involved,” Jungkook hums.

Taehyung purses his lips. “Well, he was in the hospital for a few weeks. And he started dating Tony after he checked out.”  
Yoongi grits his teeth, his fists clenching.

“I’ll get to that rat later,” he seethes, but takes himself under control fast. “I’m sure he has something to do with it, but it’s possible his mind was messed with too.”

“We’ll find out, I promise,” Kook puts a hand on his shoulder, and Yoongi looks up at his sworn brother, grateful.

“Who would do that to him?” Taehyung whispers, taking a breath through his mouth to stop himself from getting too emotional. “And why?”  
“Jimin is virtually nobody in our world,” Ten muses. “But someone went out of the way to make him suffer, and only the person with our amount of power could pull it off. First the curse, and now this?”  
Yoongi nods a few times and rubs his lips.

“I swore to protect him,” he whispers. “And now I know I have to even if I didn’t.”

“Why would they… What does it all mean?” Taehyung asks shakily, but something inside of him feels the answer already.

“It means,” Yoongi looks up, the ancient rage in his eyes. “That, somehow, Jimin belongs to the Underworld.”

He stands straighter, his energy brimming with red power of Ares.

“And I will die before I let them tear him away from us.”

VIII

  
_Ten months ago._

Jimin clutches the vials as he makes his way towards the street. Visiting Hypnos for his father’s meds always feels like a nightmare. He rarely does it, his dad preferring to go himself, but sometimes, when he’s too weak or delusional, Jimin does it for him, and every time it feels like walking to Hell and back.

Objectively, Hypnos is... Nice. He’s smiling at Jimin, instructing him on how to apply the potions properly, even sometimes telling him what’s inside of the vials. It’s different every time, and he gets either sad or happy when he hears about Jimin’s dad state. He cares. It’s nice and unexpected of a gang member, but it feels like Jimin has at least someone who _knows_. Taehyung knows about his father’s illness, but he doesn’t live with him, seeing and feeling it every day. So yes, Hypnos is nice.

It’s the way he looks at Jimin sometimes that unsettles him. Every time Jimin walks into his lab after being away from a while, the first thing he sees in Hypnos’ eyes is hope and sadness. But when he opens his mouth and says something, it disappears, and he gets back to looking cheerful and talking to Jimin like they’re old friends. But that hope still haunts him.

And there are people. Coming and going, visiting the lab while he’s here, or coming in when he’s walking out. They’re all sorts of people, but they all have that look on them. Dangerous. Even the boy Jimin once saw, the one with a kind smile and soft green hair, even he felt like he will not hesitate to dispose of Jimin if he does something wrong. He caught a glimpse of his emotions when they walked past each other, and he knew the boy was worrying about someone. It was a year ago, and he forgot everyone he saw after that, but that man remained.

It’s all that damn empathy of his, he thinks as he’s slowly crossing the street to get to the other side. It’s dangerous here, and dark, and he wishes to get home faster, but his legs won’t let him, weakening as if they want him to stay here.

He’s thinking about the man he sees with Hypnos more than the others. He’s tall and threatening, but he gets extremely soft and pliant when he’s close to Hypnos. Jimin wishes he had something like that. Someone who loved him so much.

It’s with this thought that he bumps into someone rounding the corner, almost dropping the parcels with his dad’s vials.

“Shit, watch it.” The voice is gruff and hard, and it sends electricity through his entire body. He looks up quickly, feeling who he will see there but not knowing.

The man looks back, and it’s silent for a moment. His black hair falls to his tired eyes, and there’s a smudge of blood on his neck. He needs to say something.

“Sorry,” he huffs out. “But you should watch it, too, you know.

The man’s eyebrows fly up, and he snorts.

“Are you serious, kid?” His tone is mocking and amused, and Jimin presses his lips together in annoyance.

“I’m not a kid,” he contradicts, clutching the parcel closer to his chest. “Now, if you excuse me, I’ll go.”

The guy is annoying, and Jimin doesn’t like him, he decides. There was something when he saw him, but now he just wants to run away. He walks around him, feeling his smell but not being able to identify it, and starts walking with purpose.

“Hey, wait.”

Something falls inside his soul, and he turns around slowly, terrified and excited. The man looks like the inhabitant of these streets.

“Yes?” He asks, hating his voice for shaking.

The man comes closer, swallowing and looking over Jimin. The streetlights illuminate his pale face.

“You look like a civilian,” he notes, thoughtful. “You sure you want to be alone around here this late?”

Jimin isn’t sure, not at all, and he wishes he had company or was here during the day, but the only time he can visit Hypnos without bumping into anyone he knows is night, so here he is.

“I’m fine, thanks,” he says weakly, not even believing his own words.

The man huffs and rolls his eyes.

“Yeah, I’m walking you out,” he announces and starts walking in the direction he came from. Jimin blinks fast, abashed. The guy notices he isn’t following him and turns around, his hands outstretched. “And? You’re coming?”

It’s not like he has any other choice. They’re still going to be walking together even if Jimin ignores him and continues his trek alone. He takes a deep breath, trying to get his emotions under control, and starts walking hesitantly, wary of the guy’s strange smirk.

They walk in silence for some time, but Jimin feels like he needs to say something.

“I’m not showing you where I live,” he blurts out, and there’s a pause, and then — laughter. He sneaks a peek at his face and feels his breath hitch. The guy is handsome, more so — he’s so beautiful it catches Jimin off guard. His smile is bright and wide, and he blinks slowly, finding himself smiling too.

“Don’t worry, I’m not walking you home,” he says, looking at Jimin and still smiling. His eyes seem kind, but there’s murder in them. “I’ll just get you to the Street, and after that, it’s relatively safe.”

Jimin knows what Street he’s referring to, and he feels wary because he knows what’s located there, but the familiarity with which the man is talking about it makes Jimin feel calmer.

“Thanks,” he murmurs, and it’s warm somewhere in his chest, and he doesn’t know why.

The guy turns to look at his face and smiles again after a few seconds.

“You’re welcome.”

It’s quiet and comfortable since then, and it’s not that long of a way, so when they reach the back alley of the Underworld hotel, its dark and tall form making Jimin shiver, he regrets not talking to him more. He takes a step towards the safer space, leaving the Street and feeling like something from his soul stayed there along with his guide. He turns to look at him, still on the territory, looking at Jimin like something is funny. He rubs his neck, and Jimin sees a beautiful watch on his wrist.

“Next time you’re here at night,” he says, clearing his throat, looking somewhat flustered. “And if someone is bothering you. Just say that you’re meeting up with me, and they’ll back out.”

Really? Is he that powerful? Who even is he, and why does Jimin feels like he needs to know everything about him, no matter how dangerous it is?

“And who might you be?” He asks playfully, tilting his head.

The man grins, mad and beautiful, and Jimin feels something pulling at his soul.

“Just say...” He trails off, looking over Jimin one last time before walking backward. “Just say that you’re waiting for Ares.”

There’s a jolt of shock in his heart, and he breathes out, feeling his lips stretch in his happiness.

“Ares. Alright.”

“Yeah.” Ares nods and smiles one last time. “Don’t forget it.”

Jimin watches him walk away, back into the shadows of the Underworld, and it feels like he suddenly has wings, dark and powerful, and he could take off right there and then.

He laughs under his breath before turning around and going home. He will definitely come back here, if only to catch another glimpse of Ares.

_Don’t forget it._

Jimin smiles and murmurs, “How could I ever?”

↹

The garden is beautiful, and no matter how much Persephone hates the realm it belongs to, he still cannot deny the beatific charm of roses and hyacinths. They remind him of Aphrodite and his mother, and so he turns away, holding back tears. He won’t let Hades see him cry, not again.

It has been two full moons since he was taken, and he hasn’t spoken a word to Hades that wasn’t a curse. Hades showed him the door out of his room long ago, but tonight is the first time Persephone chooses to use the knowledge. It’s beautiful and dark here, magical sky alight with stars. It’s not really there, for the Underworld’s location is quite literally in the name. Yet here he is, looking up at a beautiful night sky, Selene’s graceful form illuminating his face and hands. His skin has gone pale and ashen, but he refuses to eat anything for he knows what it means — he will forever have to stay here, confined and chained, the invisible ropes holding tight. He wraps his robes closer around himself and bites his lips to keep from crying.

“It’s for you.”

He doesn’t flinch or turn around, just stills, keeping his gaze straight. He feels Hades behind him, slowly coming closer until they’re standing side by side, the god of death looking up at the stars.

“I asked Hecate to show you the sky,” he confesses, turning to face Persephone.

He swallows and makes himself meet his gaze.

“It’s beautiful.” He tries to keep his voice even. “But you should not have bothered, Hades. There is not enough pretty things in this realm to make my sadness go away.”

Hades’ eyes look sad, and Persephone suddenly wishes he knew him in the other world. The one where he wasn’t taken by force but courted properly, falling in love bit by bit, or consumed by it in a heartbeat, just like Aphrodite found his heart in Ares. He would love to have one of those silly love stories that mortals whisper to each other, the ones Aphrodite giggles at, the one that Persephone was, it seems, never meant to have. He would have loved being gifted the sky. If it wasn’t the means to make him forget the truth.

“I wish you knew the real me,” Hades says suddenly, pressing his trembling lips together. “I have regretted what I did a thousand times over, Persephone, and if I was presented a chance, I would have never taken you against your will again.”

Persephone steps away a little, taken aback. Is he admitting to his guilt? He, the most cruel and heartless of them all? It does not make sense, and it should not be like this, and he feels confused suddenly, wishing to run away yet not from the Underworld but from Hades.

“I am truly, deeply sorry, my flower,” Hades breathes out, and Persephone frowns at the use of “my.” He’s not his. He will never be. “But there is no turning around. I can’t take you back, not unless I wish to condemn my kingdom to Zeus’ rage.”

He presses his lips together again, and Persephone wonders if he actually wanted to confess that Zeus had something to do with this, or it was just a slip of a guilty tongue.

Hades looks up, and his eyes are dark and deep yet for the first time, Persephone isn’t afraid of him. The god smiles crookedly, and he is, Persephone realizes in a breathless unbelievable moment, beautiful, and his powers do not taint his skin but rather add the charm to the rosy face under the raven hair. He blinks and puts his hand on his chest, everything feeling suddenly like too much.

“I wish you knew the real me,” he repeats, and suddenly there’s a black rose in his hand, not unlike the one Persephone crushed in his hand when Hades gifted it to him for the first time. “I can be what you deserve.”

“And what do I deserve?” Persephone asks, breathless, and he’s terrified of what he feels inside, the storm raging and confusing his thoughts.

Hades chuckles bitterly, looking down, and Persephone wants to laugh when he realizes what’s happening. He is shy. Hades, the great god of the Underworld, the nightmare that the mortals frighten their children with, the epitome of an all-consuming darkness — is flustered, and shy, and he is, oh gods, blushing. And it is unbelievable, and funny, and yet Persephone would never mock him. He would never do that to anyone, for the kindness he knows is ingrained in his soul would never allow him to make another being feel bad when they’re showing him his raw soul. He could never think that Hades even possesses one, but here it is — in his palm in a form of a black rose, just as dark and captivating as him.

“You deserve the entire world,” Hades breathes out like it is the simplest of truths. “I know I can give you only some part of it, but please, Persephone, trust me when I tell you that you already have my heart and soul, and I would make everything in my power to make you feel like a King.”

Persephone swallows and looks down, the confusing feelings tearing him apart, and he rubs his lips, so lost that he finds it hard to breathe. He closes his eyes briefly and looks at Hades, whose smile is sad — yet it suits him. He is sadness personified, and Persephone feels there is nobody in this or any other realm that can see it, that can feel his sadness and the terrifying, devastating truth of Hades being — lonely.

Persephone steps closer, slowly, measuring his every movement, and takes the rose from his fingers. It smells nice, he finds as he carefully sniffs it, cautious as not to make the petals crumble. He looks up at Hades through his hair and sees the god look at him in wonder, his eyes wide and dark, yet so... So beautiful. Lonely and beautiful. 

Persephone does not wish to feel like this. He does not wish to feel attached to Hades. He does not wish to find his company comforting and pleasant, and he desperately wishes to still hate him. Yet now, it is a dark overwhelming sadness that is consuming his soul, and it is as if he is sharing it with Hades.

He can never love him. How can he give his heart to someone who tried to take it by force? Hades is kind to him now, but he wasn’t as such when he stole Persephone away from everything he knew. He might never feel the spring breeze on his skin again, and the only memory of his mother he now has is the smell of hyacinths, and yet he can no longer find the rage that was consuming him before. His soul, fragile and battered, has rejected the unfamiliar feeling and accepted the apathy. And he does not believe that Hades can cure it. He can, however, serve as good company. Persephone can never be his lover — yet he can try to be his friend.

And so he takes the flower and gently wills away the stem, leaving only the bouton. It fits perfectly in his hair, and he strokes the petals as he looks at Hades and, for the first time since he came here, he feels his lips stretch into the smallest of smiles.

_I wish you knew the real me._

“Then show me,” he whispers.

Hades’ eyes widen, and the stars illuminate the slowly blooming hope on his face, and Persephone doesn’t have the cruelty to quench it. Hades nods and smiles, looking at Persephone like he’s the whole universe.

“I’ll show you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> come yell at me on [twitter ](https://twitter.com/romulusadhara)  
> [come yell at me as anon](https://curiouscat.me/romulusadhara)


	9. IX. brontide.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “But I can tell you one thing, Yoongi. I trust you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [chapter moodboard](https://twitter.com/romulusadhara/status/1094316973788413952%20rel=)

_it's like I'm fighting behind these walls_

_and hiding through metaphors_

_this is real, these are flaws_

_so take all of me_

_please take all of me_

 

↹

The sound of something shattering inside the house makes Poseidon speed his steps up. The storm is raging, and even he can’t seem to make it calm down.

He throws open the door to Ares’ residence and ducks just in time to avoid a wine pot flying past it. Poseidon blinks a few times, following its path with his gaze, and then turns around to face the enraged form of his friend.

Ares is breathing heavily, his armor undone, his sword unshed and stuck in the wall. His eyes are mad, searching around him for something else to destroy. Poseidon takes a cautious step toward him, his hands extended. Ares looks like someone who is ready to go to war, and considering it is his realm of work, Poseidon feels hesitant. He can conjure the Trident in a moment yet he truly hopes he will not have to. Ares is his friend. He is sure he can help him without getting into a fight.

“My friend, what has soured your mood so?” He tries, coming closer with each word until he can clearly see the distress painted in Ares’ red eyelids.

Ares looks him in the eye, as if he only just noticed that Poseidon is here, and opens his mouth to say something. His lips move comically without uttering a sound, and his face scrunches up, his fingers coming to his hair to tug at it.

“He’s gone,” he finally croaks out, and Poseidon hears the devastating pain and heartbreak in his voice. “Aphrodite is gone.”

Poseidon freezes, his mind coming to a halt. Gone?

The last he saw Aphrodite, he left to converse with Zeus in an attempt to break off his marriage to Hephaestus. What happened? Did Zeus refuse? Even if it was so, would he resort to such dark measures as to lock Aphrodite away to keep Ares and him apart? Poseidon feels rage rise up inside of him, his anger at the youngest brother taking up all the space in his thoughts.

“What happened?” He asks gravely, set on doing everything in his power to help Aphrodite get out from Zeus’ shadow.

Ares swallows, trying to get his breathing under control, but it seems like every time he does, a reminder of his grief appears in his mind, and he gets even angrier. Poseidon looks him over, lost at what to do — and sees it. He takes a deep breath and takes Ares’ hand to gently put his fingers over the triangle necklace on his chest.

Aphrodite gave it to him. Now, it is the only reminder that their love is real, and that not everything is lost.

It seems to help. Ares wraps his fingers around the triangle and presses it to his lips, his eyes closed. It takes him a few moments to gather himself yet Poseidon would wait a thousand of those if it means that his friend regains his sanity at the end of that path. He listens to the sounds of wind and raindrops outside to feel closer to his own nature.

Finally, Ares opens his eyes and looks up, his gaze still enraged yet clear and sharp.

“I felt it when Zeus broke the bond between Aphrodite and Hephaestus,” he starts, his voice hollow. It pains Poseidon. “I do not possess the knowledge as to the reason of that, but I knew that it became easier to breathe. I felt Aphrodite ever more.”

Poseidon smiles a little at that. So his brother was reasonable, after all. He has to be sometimes, does he not?

“Then what is wrong, my friend?” He inquires, attempting to keep his voice soft and soothing. “Where is Aphrodite?”

At this, Ares’ brow furrows, and he opens his mouth again to take a breath — and he cannot. He grits his teeth and groans as if there is a hundred arrows in his body.

“He did not make it to me.” He jerks his head as if trying to get his mind ridden of dark thoughts. “Something happened to him on the way. I felt his distress but before I could find him to learn what is bothering him — he disappeared.” He clenches his fist harder around the necklace, and Poseidon sees the drops of blood from his palm cutting into the edges of the triangle. “I just felt as if someone cut my lifeline. One second I was basking in his warm presence in my mind, and the next — there was nothing. Just darkness and cold.”

Ares used to be always cold, Poseidon recalls. Only when Aphrodite appeared in his life did he seem to start getting warm. Poseidon remembers every word Ares has ever spoken about his love, and they were all filled with gentleness one would not expect of the god of war. Aphrodite made the cruel and cold man fall in love with him and helped him uncover his true soul — one of a strong and unyielding yet fundamentally kind god.

“Who could have taken him?” He wonders quietly, and sees how Ares’ features harden. He already has a theory.

“I just got back from Hephaestus’ residence,” he grits out. “It’s empty.”

Poseidon takes a deep breath and tries to think clearly. They need to approach it with strategy yet Ares was never known as the one to plan. He just asked where the fight was and charged inside, his sword ready to shed blood. Poseidon looks at it now, stuck in the wall. Ares probably did it in the fit of his rage.

“Aphrodite isn’t in the water,” he starts, searching his soul and making sure that his realm isn’t the hiding place for whoever took the god of love. “I would have known. We need to search the Underworld and the Olympus.”

Ares nods as if he does not even realize it and rubs his lips.

“It would be hard to get a meeting with Hades,” he muses. “I have heard that he is somewhat preoccupied. Nobody knows why but Hermes told me the King has not left his residence in days.”

Poseidon frowns, wondering what his brother is up to. He is secluded, naturally, but he is simply never interested in what is happening outside of his realm. Hades once described all the gods as petty foolish humans, and it was agreed then that it is pointless to try and get him involved in their business. What could make him even more distant?

“There is not a lot of places on Olympus where Aphrodite can be, your bond cut off,” Poseidon speaks, rubbing his chin in thought.

“What makes you believe he is even in our realms?” Ares looks up, grave. “I feel as if… As if he is in the human world.”

It is troubling, and dangerous — if any of the gods is away from home for too long, they become weaker. Aphrodite cannot stay among humans for long, or he will thin out to the point of no return. They have a few full moons, at best, to bring him back.

“Then we better start searching,” Poseidon says quietly and with determination. “I will contact Hermes. He sees and walks where we cannot.”

Ares nods, and Poseidon goes for the door, but changes his mind. He walks over to where the sword is stuck in the wall and wraps his fingers around the handle. He knows how to handle weapon, yet this one is not his Trident, and more so — it is not an ordinary blade. It is a sword of Ares, beautiful and destructive, the precious gems shining a deadly red. Not every god, and never any human, can wield it. It takes a lot of strength for Poseidon to pull it out of the wall, but he succeeds.

He holds it up to Ares, making him wrap his palm around the handle. His hands are trembling but it seems as if the sword has the weight of a feather when in its rightful owner’s grip. Poseidon looks Ares in the eyes, begging the powers of the Universe to bring the fire that used to burn there back.

“You need your weapon, my friend,” he whispers, and he sees the sparks of power in Ares’ irises. “To avenge your love when he is once again in your arms.”

It has the desired effect. He feels the fingers under his palm wrap the handle tighter, and Ares’ jaw hardens. He swallows and nods.

“I will have the heads of everyone responsible for taking my Aphrodite away,” he vows grimly, and the storm still rages on somewhere outside yet its power is nothing when compared to the strength of Ares’ rage. “They will pay.”

IX

Taeyong watches the rubber ball hit the wall and bounce back into Ten’s hand. He’s been staring at it for the past ten minutes, and he wonders if Ten can’t get bored or if he noticed that it helps Taeyong think and just does it for his convenience. It’s cute. Taeyong is really fucking in love. He holds his fingers over the candle beside him, enjoying the way he can put them away quickly — and it won’t hurt him. As long as he knows when to pull away, he’s safe.

They’re in their room, and it’s three in the morning, and he cannot stop thinking and go to sleep, which leads Ten to stay awake too since they’re codependent dumbasses who have unintentionally built their sleep schedules around each other months ago, and at this point it’s too much of a habit to change it.

“It helps you if you rant out loud,” Ten suddenly says, and it would've destroyed the peaceful atmosphere of the room if it were anyone but him. “It would also help if you got off the windowsill.”

The sound of the rubber ball stops. Taeyong clicks his tongue and jumps off, his bare feet hitting the floor. Maybe, Ten was right when he bought the carpet. Taeyong tends to move like a cat, barefoot and choosing any elevated surface to rest on. Looking out the window on his city when he’s thinking helps him keep his priorities in check.

He climbs on the bed, attempting to get to his spot by climbing over Ten because walking around takes too long, but Ten doesn’t let him. He stops Taeyong by putting his hands on his hips. Taeyong chuckles and stays put on Ten’s lap. It’s not the most uncomfortable seating arrangement, if he’s to say so. Ten rubs soothing circles into his thighs, and he sees how tired he is, his eyes puffy, the circles under them standing out in the barely-illuminated room.

“What?” He huffs, biting his lips and spreading his palms over Ten’s chest. Ten sleeps shirtless, one of many old habits he never kicked, and it’s not like Taeyong is complaining. His boyfriend is ripped, and he would thank Yoongi for the constant trainings he puts Ten through if it wasn’t slightly on the weird side.

Ten brings his hand up to wrap his palm around Taeyong’s neck and rub it. It helps to take away some of the tension. He closes his eyes and enjoys the contact.

“Talk to me,” Ten asks softly, and Taeyong feels the guilt he’s been feeling for weeks now creep back into his heart. He can’t. Not yet. “We can work it out. And if not — I’m a good listener.”

“I know.” He sighs and opens his eyes to look down on his boyfriend. He remembers seeing him for the first time, has it haunting his nightmares all the time. Ten is better now, his hair black and shiny, his face and body devoid of any injuries except for the old scars, but he will never forget the pale broken face under the faded silver. He is Taeyong’s everything.

It’s with this thought that he reaches for his phone on the nightstand. He hears Ten sigh, resigned.

“Tae?”

“I just want to know if Mark is up,” he answers, looking through his contacts. He doesn’t get to find Euterpe, because there’s a hand on his wrist, and he lowers the phone to look at Ten.

“While I am extremely flattered that you’re choosing to go to Mark in the middle of the night instead of sleeping with your boyfriend,” Ten starts, his signature sass dripping from every word and making Taeyong smile. “He’s not asleep. He’s training with Yoongi.”

Taeyong frowns, going over the events of the evening in his head.

After the whole… revelation that Yoongi had, they all went their separate ways, with Ten leaving for a meeting with Aether, Taeyong going into the server room to pull the Halloween tapes, and Jungkook and Taehyung taking off to their room. Yoongi himself went to search for Jimin. He hasn’t slept in two days, so Taeyong figured he’d be in his room, catching up on that, while Jimin was put in one of the spare rooms. There was no point in them leaving the hotel, on the account of it being late and Yoongi growing an extra worrying gland. He doubts he would let someone else guard Jimin’s apartment.

“Jimin is sleeping in his room,” Ten explains with a smirk. “I don’t know why Yoongi didn’t give him his own, but oh well.”

“But Yoongi must be exhausted.” He frowns, but then realizes something and sighs. “Of course he’s training. He always does it when he’s stressed.”

Ten caresses his forehead to smooth out the creases and gets up on his elbows. The position they’re in is suggestive at best, and he wonders if it’ll be appropriate to abandon his boyfriend in the middle of the night to go to another guy. Who’s also the boyfriend of Ten’s best friend. Gods, their gang is weird.

“Why do you want to talk to Mark, anyway?” Ten asks, his tone resigned, and Taeyong is really grateful for his perception skills.

Taeyong bites his lip. The guilt is back.

“I need to ask him something about Mnemosyne,” he confesses the half-truth, looking at his hands. It’s too hard to meet Ten’s eyes, and he _knows_ Ten feels him hiding something, but he doesn’t press. Taeyong doesn’t know if he’s grateful for that.

Ten sighs and lies back up. “Then you better go there now. They’re supposed to be done soon.”

Taeyong climbs off of him and moves for the door, but changes his mind last second, and goes back to the bed to quickly leave a kiss on Ten’s lips.

“I love you,” he whispers, enjoying the way he still influences Ten — his eyes wide, his lips parted. “More than anything. Never forget that.”

He closes the door to their room without missing the “Well, that’s not ominous at all,” from Ten. Takes a deep breath and reminds himself it’s for the greater good. Which is, if he’s being honest, the most bullshit excuse if there’s one.

He shakes his palm all the way down to the third floor, his nervous habit — it feels as if his fingers are playing the guitar, and it soothes him. He hasn’t played in so long, but his muscles still remember. Orpheus, huh.

When he gets to the training rooms, Yoongi is nowhere to be seen, but he hears the shower running and figures Mark is in there. He pulls out his phone and sees a text from Ten — a picture of his pouting face, offended at being abandoned. Taeyong laughs and sends a quick response, promising to come back soon enough. He’s so whipped it’s embarrassing.

The waters turns off, and Mark comes out a few minutes later, a bit surprised at seeing Taeyong on the bench, waiting for him. He blinks a few times and continues drying his hair.

“Yoongi just left for his room,” he explains, almost shy, and Taeyong almost cooes at him.

“I’m not here for him,” he explains, standing up. “I actually wanted to talk to you.”

Mark stops and looks at him, confused and intrigued. Taeyong has been trying to show him that he’s the part of the family for weeks now, yet the boy still sometimes gets that look on his face — as if he’s waiting to be kicked out. It pains Taeyong, and he wishes the adjustment period would go faster.

“Sure.” Mark swallows and sits down next to him. “What’s up?”

Taeyong sighs and bites his lips, pondering over how to pose his question. He thinks about Ten, and about the way his own face lights up whenever he talks about him, and chooses a way.

“Tell me about Johnny,” he asks softly, and it’s nice to see that no matter how confused Mark looks, there’s still a warm look in his eyes at the mention of Janus. “How did you meet?”

“I thought you knew the story?” Mark inquires, picking at his nails. He’s frowning.

“Yah,” Taeyong exhales softly and smiles, trying to show that he’s not here to punish. They’re just talking. “But I need to go over the details, and you’re the one who knows it the best, so...”

He trails off, letting Mark pick up the thread of the conversation. It may not be the wisest idea — to hear it from someone biased, but the only people who weren’t unconscious at the time of the incident he’s curious about are Seokjin and Mark, and well, he’s definitely not going to Jin with that conversation.

Mark takes a deep breath, recounting the events of that week before he speaks up.

“It was around February, I think,” he starts, thoughtful. “I remember that we celebrated Jisung’s birthday about a week prior. I gave him those really fancy ballet shoes, you know?” He chuckles, remembering his little brother, and Taeyong smiles in return. Mark always gets even shyer when he’s talking about his step-siblings. “I was in charge of cleaning out the training room that night. We all took turns because F— Mnemosyne believed it would be unwise for us to get used to someone else cleaning up our messes. I was finishing up when I got called up.”

Taeyong doesn’t know a lot about the Muse house, seeing as Seokjin is extremely secretive about them except for the fact that they’re the best at everything. It’s not a lie, of course, and Mark is only one example of that — but nobody knows how Seokjin trains them, and where exactly in the Olympus manor they live. Even after coming to the Underworld, Mark wasn’t that open about his training days. He’s loyal to them, though, and that is enough.

“Seokjin has this room near his office,” Mark continues meanwhile, a faraway look in his eyes. “Kinda like a therapist office?” He looks up at Taeyong to see if he gets it, and Tae nods even though he’s surprised Seokjin would have use for such a room. “The Muses have sessions with him every week. We just... Talk. Share the things we’ve learned and the things we feel. One of his lessons was never to bottle shit up, but only unload it on someone we completely trust after making sure they don’t mind.”

It’s a good lesson, and he wonders if they’re wrong to think of Muses as Mnemosyne’s little psychopaths. He genuinely loves them, and he raises them as he would his own children. In a way, they are to him. It’s still seasoned with the way he treats them as a personal project, and Taeyong is somewhat uncomfortable with that thought.

“Johnny was in that room on the bed,” Mark continues, rubbing his lips. “He looked uninjured but he was unconscious, and so... Pale. For a moment I thought that Seokjin wanted me to help him dispose of a body.”

Taeyong blinks. Does he do it? Ask the Muses to assist him with something like that? Sure, some of them are older than Yoongi was when he first committed a crime, but a good half of them are barely teenagers.

“He doesn’t do it to the kids,” Mark elaborates, looking up at his eyes, as if he knows what Taeyong is thinking about. “They know the theory, but he doesn’t let them see the real action until they’re old enough.”

Taeyong exhales and nods, encouraging him to continue.

“I saw Johnny breathe, though, so that thought went out the window.” He smiles a little, and Taeyong guesses he’s remembering seeing Janus for the first time. “Seokjin asked me to take care of him. He said he was worn thin. Told me he got him out of the Kim’s precinct. I was surprised, because I couldn’t recognize him, and Seokjin isn’t usually the one to rescue people from outside the Olympus.”

That’s true. Taeyong remembers finding out that Johnny is under Mnemosyne’s care and freezing, unsure as to what it meant. They were working on getting Johnny out themselves, but by the time they got Vernon on the case, Johnny was already released. To Olympus.

“Did he ever say why?” He wonders, brow furrowed. This is what he wanted to know. “I mean, it’s not like he did it out of the kindness of his heart, and he never asked us for anything in return. Said it was a favor between friends.”

“That’s what he said to me, too.” Mark nods, frowning. “But he never mentioned that he did it for the Underworld. He just kept mumbling about ‘the favor.’ Which one — he never said. But he sounded pretty excited.”

Taeyong looks down on his palms between his knees and thinks. It has been months since then, and Seokjin never asked for anything. Besides, what could he have possibly asked for that they wouldn’t help him with anyway? They may be on different sides of the bridge, but they’re family. Jungkook would agree to help Namjoon in any case, despite their strained relationship back then, if it was beneficial for the city. And if it wasn’t — Seokjin would know better than to reveal it to them.

Why Johnny? Why at that time? Taeyong himself was in that jail a few days before Johnny, but Seokjin didn’t even move a finger. And how did he even do it? Kim hates him, and none of the lawyers they employ confessed doing that favor for Jin.

Favor.

Johnny. Janus.

Something clicks in his mind, and he looks up, suddenly enlightened. Janus has two faces, one always looking over his back, and he’s famous for leading a double game. But Johnny is loyal, has always been, and the reason he got the nickname was because of his fascinating acting abilities. He worked in the said precinct for months before his cover was blown and he barely escaped to join Yoongi’s permanent unit.

Seokjin is always the one to ask for the nickname first. He believes in them, and in the powers they bring. Was he hoping to use one of Janus’ faces to his advantage?

Johnny came back home a few days after, and he kept acting strange, and when one day he brought Mark and asked them to accept him into the family, everybody wrote his weirdness off to being in love.

Did he? Fall in love? Or did he switch sides?

Seokjin saved him from prison, and then he brought a Muse into the Underworld. Taeyong tenses against his will, trying to wrap his head around the theory.

Ten loves Johnny like a brother. They’ve hit it off since the day Ten appeared, and he claims to know Johnny more than anyone here. Would he know? If his best friend turned out to be a traitor?

He doesn’t want to believe it — he doesn’t want to think about someone so close betraying them, but he doesn’t have any other choice but to be suspicious. If he ever lets his guard down, they all can pay for that.

But how would it benefit Seokjin? Why could Johnny possibly spy for him? What would make him turn his back on the people who gave him his life as he knows it?

“What happened then?” He asks, his voice hollow. Can he even trust a word Mark says?

Mark shifts his weight and rubs his nose.

“Seokjin left him in my care,” he says, and there’s something in his voice that makes Taeyong believe he’s honest about _that_. “We got to talking when he woke up, and as soon as he got better, he left for home. But he... He came back a few times to see me.”

Taeyong looks up to catch a soft unguarded look in Mark’s eyes, and he thinks — his feelings are real. What more is as real as a gentle tremble of his voice?

“Why did you leave home, Mark?” He asks, feeling a sudden depressing feeling of suffocation coming over him. He really likes the kid.

Mark looks at him and frowns, as if the answer is too obvious to even voice it. He does it anyway.

“Because it wasn’t home anymore.”

Taeyong grits his teeth, feeling his hands shake again. He presses his palms together and sighs.

“Thank you, Mark.”

“Just hope I could help with whatever you needed, man.” Mark blinks a few times and stands up, throwing the towel in the dumbwaiter and rubbing his neck. “Listen, I know people around here don’t really trust me yet.”

Taeyong straightens up and looks at him cursorily. Are his thoughts that obvious?

“I mean, it’s logical.” Mark shrugs with one shoulder. “I used to be a Muse, and not all people believe I’m not anymore. And it’s okay, I get it, they just need more time. But you... You never treat me like an outsider.”

It hurts. Somewhere deep inside Taeyong feels his heart break, and he hates himself for getting so attached to a kid that may turn out to be a traitor. It hurts even more that he may not be one, and Taeyong is doubting a genuinely sweet guy who did nothing but follow his heart. And Taeyong knows very well how that one feels.

“Thanks for that,” Mark says shyly, not meeting his eyes. “It means a lot. I know I have Johnny, but it still feels nice to be a part of something so... Good. Yoongi treats me well, too, but,” he chuckles, “I think that’s more because he doesn’t care where people come from as long as they can throw a mean punch in the name of Hades. Which is also cool.”

He gathers his things and waves his hands awkwardly.

“So yeah, thanks. I’ll see you when I see you.” He leaves, softly closing the door behind him, and Taeyong thinks about that last phrase — the one they all always exchange, because in their line of work there’s no schedule or a definitive time you’ll see another member. Mark picked it up along with so many things.

The Muses are brilliant little warriors. They can do everything — from fighting to politics. How did Seokjin let go of one of them so easily? Because he wished what’s best for him and his soul, or because he _needed_ Mark here?

_The only threat we can anticipate is betrayal of the closest to us, and call me an optimist, but that isn’t happening anytime soon._

Those were his own words, spoken less than a few hours ago. He meant them then. He isn’t so sure of them now.

He blinks when he hears the sound of the elevator opening, having entered it without even noticing. He passes Yoongi’s room on his way and thinks that maybe it’s best to consult with both him and Jungkook, but he brushes that off in a heartbeat. He still needs the full story, the one he wanted to find a piece of when talking to Mark. Instead, he is only left with more questions and doubts.

Ten is, obviously, not sleeping when Taeyong enters the room and falls on the bed.

He puts away his phone on the nightstand and turns on his side, watching Ten’s profile, illuminated by the screen of his phone. It wouldn’t be obvious to anyone else, but Taeyong knows him well — the man is pouting ever so slightly. Taeyong moves closer and pokes Ten’s hand with his nose. He looks down, and Taeyong just knows he was going to ignore him for leaving in the middle of the night, because he knows his boyfriend, thank you very much, but as soon as Ten sees the look on his face, he sighs and puts his phone away. He slides down, bringing Taeyong closer so that his head is on Ten’s chest.

Tae sighs and closes his eyes, listening to his heartbeat. It’s calm and soothing, and he tries to align his breathing with it. Two beats — inhale. Three beats — exhale. Ten strokes his hair and kisses his temple. Taeyong knows he wants to talk, but he can’t, he just can’t, not yet, not when there’s so much he still needs to find out himself.

“How would you describe Johnny?” He asks suddenly, his voice quiet. It seems blasphemous to destroy the peace of the room. He watches the flame of one of Ten’s favorite scented candles on the windowsill.

Ten makes a soft non-committed sound and smacks his lips.

“Hot.”

Taeyong slaps him softly on the stomach, and Ten snorts, his chest going up and down in silent giggles. Taeyong waits for his fit to pass patiently. The rest of the world can wait if Ten is laughing.

“Shit, I don’t know,” he breathes out.

“Do it in three words?” Taeyong suggests. He doesn’t know why he needs it, but he does. Ten hums softly before replying, and his hand in Taeyong’s hair works as a miracle drug that takes away his anxiety.

“Kind.” It’s spoken with a great deal of admiration, and he knows how much kindness of any man means to Ten. He was deprived of it for almost his entire life, and he never trusts it when he encounters it for the first time, but as soon as he realizes that the person is honest — they become valuable to him. “Powerful.” Johnny is a quiet force to be reckoned with. He is never the first one to go into the fight because Yoongi knows his talents and reserves him as a vengeful invisible weapon. If Wooseok and Jinho are the scaring force that the enemy sees first, then Johnny is the silent presence that leads them to the afterlife. He’s strong and fierce, and — powerful. “Loyal.”

Taeyong closes his eyes, everything inside of him feeling as if he is pierced with needles. How can he even voice his theories to Ten? How can he make him doubt the man he values and loves so much? How can he look his lover in the eye and tell him that there is a possibility the first person he truly trusted after Taeyong may have betrayed their family? It would break Ten, and by extension — Taeyong’s own heart.

He must stay silent. He must keep it from them all until he has all the possible facts. It’s just a theory. Before his wild thought, there was never a single indication that either Johnny or Mark are unloyal. He’s being paranoid, and it’s all there is.

There is still a nagging thought at the back of his mind, and he thinks about all the shit Johnny knows about the Underworld, having been here almost since it was created. He went through too much with them, and he would never turn their back on the family, not even for love.

That last bit seems bitter and strained, and he tries to imagine himself in such a situation. It’s hard, it’s impossible to even entertain the thought because Jungkook gave him everything he has now, and he would be long dead without him. But so is Johnny, and he is still suspecting him of something so unpleasant it leaves a sour taste in his throat.

“Babe?”

Ten is almost asleep, his breathing even and quiet, his hands on Taeyong weak and relaxed. He still responds.

“Yes, angel?

Taeyong bites his lip and gathers his strength before voicing it because it’s one thing to have it in his mind, and yet completely another — to give it life by saying it out loud.

“If I asked you to do something that would betray everything you stand for but makes sure that we stay together…” He closes his eyes, feeling the sting in them. “Would you do it?”

Ten is silent, and Taeyong thinks that he fell asleep after all, but the there’s a sigh and a hand on his cheek. He opens his eyes and looks at Ten, his own eyes puffy but bright. He’s staring at Taeyong, motionless, and it’s hard to read the thoughts on his face. Finally, he strokes Taeyong’s lips with his thumb.

“It all depends, love,” he breathes out, and it feels like he realizes more than he lets on, and it makes Tae fall for him a little bit more. “Would it mean betraying the Underworld?”

It’s hard to speak, a lump in his throat suffocating, so he just nods shakily. Ten chuckles.

“Nah,” he says simply. “But not because I don’t love you enough. I just know you would never do that. Even if it seemed like a hopeless situation, you would do everything in your power to fix it. And if you failed — you’d go down with them, but never leave them.”

Taeyong feels so much shit inside that it seems as if his soul is on fire, and he presses closer, hiding his face in Ten’s shoulder. It’s home.

“You sound so sure of my loyalty.”

If only you knew it’s not the one I’m questioning.

“I know you,” Ten breathes out and sighs, throwing a comforter over them. “You love this place and this family too much. Anyone who truly knows them does. And will never turn their back on them.”

Taeyong takes a deep breath, suddenly feeling overwhelmingly exhausted. Everything Ten is saying seems so real, yet what would he say if he knew what Taeyong does?

“And so do I, you know,” Ten continues quietly. “The bonds that these people have are what holds it all together. And I owe them everything.”

So does Johnny. But where does the loyalty end and the survival instinct begin?

Ten hugs him closer and sighs contently, falling asleep almost immediately. Taeyong feels his own eyes droop, and he watches the candle burn out as he succumbs to sleep. His last thought is as simple as it is fundamental.

He owes his life to the Underworld. And if he has to give it away in order to save them — he will not spare it a second thought.

IX

The Monday college rush smacks Jimin in the face with all its fury, and he blinks, trying to convince his brain to cooperate. His Philosophy lecture is going at full speed but he mentally thanks Professor Adachi for leaving him alone after he failed to answer some simple question. He probably knows what happened to Jimin after the Friday lesson, and while Jimin hates being pitied, he’s still grateful.

And okay, maybe it’s not the _incident_ that has him so rattled.

It’s a load of shit that hit the fan of his life on Saturday. It’s still hard to process everything — the things he overheard, the picture that he doesn’t remember being taken and the fact that Tony is there even though Jimin knows damn sure he met him two months later, and the weirdest of them all — Yoongi.

The man did not come to his room in the evening. Jimin was pacing and probably making a hole in the carpet but he couldn’t care less, for the electricity he felt in his nervous system would not let him calm down. The racing thoughts, the unanswered questions, the confused feelings. He wanted to talk to Yoongi about it, and at the same time he didn’t, and he wanted to talk to Taehyung about it, but he was too afraid to face him, and it was such a mess of thoughts and emotions that at some point he just fell face-first into a pillow and made himself go to sleep. Park Jimin guarantee: don’t think about the problem — pass out hoping it goes away when you wake up.

Only it didn’t work for long, because he had a nightmare again, the same one — the fire and the cold, and the blood in his mouth, and a feeling that he didn’t get to do something fundamentally important. He woke up in cold sweat at one in the morning, Yoongi nowhere to be found, and spent another two hours trying to make his mind turn off again.

When the door finally opened, he felt Yoongi watch him for a while and then move for the other room where Jimin discovered a bed under a pile of clothes. He did that while looking for something to wear to sleep, and at that point he’s decided that it would be wise to stop questioning his urge to wear Yoongi’s clothes for now. He had enough on his mind.

“Don’t even think about it,” he gritted out, successfully stopping Yoongi in his tracks and angry-eyeing him into joining Jimin on the bed.

He still doesn’t want to think about it. He doesn’t. Somehow, for some fucking reason, Yoongi helps him sleep, and it is as if the soothing presence he can sometimes feel at the back of his mind in his dreams travels into reality and takes the form of Ares. He remembers saying something to Yoongi that morning when he first asked him to help him sleep, but he was too exhausted and out of it to remember. Probably something embarrassing.

Yoongi was gone the next morning, and Jimin didn’t see him until the clock had once again stricken three in the morning, which was honestly extremely annoying, because it’s not like Jimin could leave the room without him — first of all, he was still too much of a coward to face Taehyung, second of all… Alright, maybe there wasn’t a second of all.

He just needed time. Still probably does, because he spent the entire day yesterday trying to find even a trace of Halloween in his memory. He didn’t remember it at all. As far as he is concerned, he didn’t go to any parties — already strange. He just came home, had a dinner with his father, and went to sleep. That’s it. That’s all he remembers, yet the picture he took with him was telling a different story.

After text-annoying Ten into bringing him food, he ended up doing the only thing he could, which was his homework, and just the fact that he had to resort to _that_ made him annoyed enough to snap and go to sleep in the next room, closing the door to the one with Yoongi’s bed in it.

It took him twenty minutes of tossing and turning to get back, and it was just in time with the door opening and the mighty Ares showing up. They just looked at each other and went to sleep.

Is this how old couples who hate each other behave? But they’re not old, they don’t hate each other, and they’re definitely not a couple, but Jimin had too much shit on his mind, and Yoongi didn’t seem keen on starting the conversation.

This morning was better. They even talked, and Jimin made a joke about Yoongi’s bedhead, and Yoongi threw a pillow at him, and it was nice, and Jimin still refuses to think about what it means. Yoongi is…

He feels something toward him, but he cannot even entertain a thought of it being something more than friendship. After all, he sleeps in one bed with Tae, too, and they banter and throw shit, and take care of each other, and they’re nothing more than friends. It still feels different with Yoongi.

Shit.

He tugs at his friendship bracelet and feels like a total disaster. Taehyung is sitting right beside him, and he is exactly the person he would confide in about all of it, but here’s a little trick — they still hasn’t exchanged a word. Wooseok and Jinho drove them home to pick up their supplies and then to college this morning, and Jimin spent the entirety of the trip looking out the window, with Taehyung not eager to start up a conversation too. Jimin understands him. If it was him, he’d have already made a scene.

He shakes his foot nervously, all the thoughts and the feelings too much for his mind, and it feels like he’s about to have a breakdown when he feels warm fingers on his own under the table. He freezes, feeling his heart beat faster, and looks up at Taehyung. The boy is staring straight ahead, but his fingers squeeze gently in the sign of silent support, and there’s something about his face and the corners of his lips that tells Jimin — I’m not mad. Take all the time you need. I’ll always be here.

Jimin wants to cry. Instead, he turns his palm over and intertwines their fingers. It feels right, and he feels stronger. It’s his Tae-Tae, and as long as they’re together — it’s okay. Jimin is okay.

///

The hug lasts forever. Changkyun starts groaning dramatically behind them, but Jimin doesn’t care, enjoying the feeling of the snuggly baby in his arms. As far as Jimin is concerned, Kim Taehyung gives the best hugs in the world, wrapping his hands around the other person’s frame and only letting go when they pull away first. It’s been two days, but Jimin missed him like crazy.

“I’m so sorry, baby,” he whines into Tae’s neck, feeling like all the tension from his body drips away. “I’m really fucking happy for you, I promise. I just needed some time to pull my head out of my ass.”

Taehyung laughs wetly and kisses his hair.

“I know, and it’s okay.”

Jimin leans back but leaves his hands on Taehyung’s shoulders. He’s a bit higher so he has to look up, which never happened when they were kids, but it’s one of the reminders Jimin so desperately needed — they’re not kids anymore. They’re not teenagers, sticking only with themselves because the rest of the world seemed against them. They’re still too young yet it’s already too late to try and deny that they’ve entered the stage of life where the innocence of the youth is no longer a valid excuse for doing dumb shit. Now they have to make stupid choices and face the consequences, like lame old people.

“I still need to sort some shit out,” he says apologetically and swallows. “But I promise we’ll talk honestly as soon as I’m done with that.”

Taehyung nods and bites his lips, his smile genuine yet his eyes worried. He wants to inquire but Tae looks like it’s not the time to discuss that. Jimin missed this grounding feeling of _getting_ Taehyung, what with them being so out of sync for the past few weeks.

“But hey,” Tae says, holding up his pinky. “You know you’re the only best man I’ll accept, right?”

Jimin laughs, enjoying the carefree sound that comes to him so easy in Taehyung’s presence, and wraps his own pinky around Tae’s.

“I’d disown you if you asked someone else,” he says, faking his seriousness.

Changkyun groans again, this time louder, and they both turn to him. He looks like an annoyed possum.

“Y’all done being cheesy?” He throws his hands up in the air, seemingly angry, but Jimin knows that he wouldn’t have let them stand there for so long hugging if he wasn’t secretly happy for them. Jimin thinks he’s starting to crack the code to the Underworld. They’re all secretly softies who live for the drama. “I’m hungry.”

Jimin snorts but finally lets go of Taehyung.

They go into the canteen hand in hand, and Jimin finally feels the rest of his exhaustion go away. Taehyung is his brother in that he knows Jimin better than everyone, and he doesn’t blame him for his freakout because he expected it. Jimin still feels guilty but he knows Taehyung will always forgive him as long as he’s honest.

Changkyun is so hyped up that he gets enough food for three of them, negating the need for them to stand up, which is — thank you, Changkyun. Jimin bites into an apple and turns to him, snorting at the way he’s stuffing himself with mashed potatoes.

“Are you the only guard?” He wonders, trying to be inconspicuous but not fooling even himself.

“He’s outside,” Changkyun says. Well, mumbles through the food in his mouth. Somehow, he makes even that look graceful. Gods, Jimin needs to take a few tips from the criminals on how to look dashing in every situation. It’s getting annoying, really. “He had something to take care of in the morning, but he texted me twenty minutes ago, said he’s coming here. Supposed to already have arrived.”

Jimin nods to himself, filing the information away. It’s not like he’s going to sprint to see Yoongi right this moment, but he’s going to the Psychology building next, so. You never know whom you might meet, especially when you’re purposefully looking for them. He takes another bite, throwing a glance at Taehyung, who’s watching him intently. Jimin raises his eyebrows at Tae’s knowing smirk, suddenly feeling put on the spot.

“What?”

“You wanna talk about it?” He wonders innocently, putting his chin on his hand. Jimin notices the ring and decides to avert the attention by grabbing Tae’s hand and bringing it closer.

It‘s beautiful. Gorgeous, even. Not the type you’d expect to be an engagement ring, but somehow it suits both Taehyung and the situation. It’s exactly the ring you’d expect to see on a finger of a gang leader’s fiancé. The silver band looks perfectly fit on Tae’s finger, the rubies not too flashy but rich red, and it suits him. It really does.

“Damn,” he breathes out, and Taehyung smirks shyly.

“I know.” He’s giddy, his cheeks red and his eyes shining. Jimin hates himself a little for dragging this out because there’s probably nobody Taehyung could talk about this with except for the gang members.

He brings Tae closer and hugs him slightly, taking a deep breath.

“Can’t wait to start planning the wedding,” he says when he pulls away, and it’s not even a lie. He just needs to get used to the thought of whose wedding it is. That’s it.

Taehyung giggles in excitement and starts going off about how they didn’t discuss the time yet, but he wants to get married in autumn while it’s still warm enough to be outside but you can already feel the smell of the drying leaves. Jimin listens to him intently, sometimes putting in his feedback, and it feels familiar as long as he doesn’t focus on the mentions of Jungkook. Shit, he really needs to sort himself out.

The time flies faster than he’d like but they have to separate now if Taehyung wants to make it in time for his lecture on the other end of the campus.

“Wait, but it’s only Changkyun,” Jimin notes when they’re walking out. “How will you watch both of us at the same time?”

Changkyun snorts, not looking up from his phone.

“If you really think I’m the only one looking after you here...” He trails off, and Jimin shrugs. Makes sense.

They make their way through the crowd, and Jimin doesn’t even notice when Changkyun disappears, but if he's learned something about the guy, he’s probably still watching them but from a position nobody can see.

They part ways on the street, hugging for way too long again, but he doesn’t mind. Feeling his best friend in his arms is something Jimin always enjoys, so he doesn’t complain. He’s just grateful Taehyung is enough of a good fucking person to stick with someone like him.

He doesn’t plan on purposefully looking for Yoongi when he makes his way through the campus, but he feels nervous, his palm sweaty around the water bottle he never bothered to open. He feels his heart beat faster, and that feels like a betrayal from his own body. Why is he nervous? They’re friends. Or, at least, they’re getting there.

It’s not his fault. It’s not his damn fault that Yoongi chooses the most obvious spot by the fountain to park his bike. Jimin snorts out loud when he sees the way Yoongi is leaning on it — confident and loose, as if he owns this place. Jimin doesn’t know exactly how much money the gang has, but something tells him they could actually buy the entire university. Yoongi’s face is covered by a mask, sunglasses, and a cap, but Jimin still somehow knows that he looks smug. He also knows Yoongi sees him too, judging by the way his head is tilted to the side in an inviting manner. Some bitchy part of Jimin wants to ignore him and keep walking, but another one, the bigger, the one that keeps convincing Yoongi to sleep in one bed with him, moves his legs, and he doesn’t even notice how he crosses the square to stand in front of Yoongi.

It’s warm outside, sun shining into his eyes, so he covers them with his hand, trying to see Yoongi’s eyes.

“What happened to being discrete?” He asks, smirking.

Yoongi clicks his tongue and takes him by the forearm, turning him around and making him sit next to him on the bike seat. Jimin admits that it’s easier now that the sun isn’t blinding him but it also means he feels Yoongi with his body, which is. Interesting.

“Nobody sees my face,” Yoongi answers, stretching his spine. “And it’s a good surveying spot.”

Jimin looks around, trying to determine what exactly Yoongi has been watching out for. People are moving around, lost in the chaotic order of their movement, talking and laughing, and it looks like an ordinary college campus. Maybe, Yoongi sees more than him. Maybe, Yoongi is looking out for something Jimin doesn’t know about.

Jimin doesn’t know about a lot of shit these days, it seems.

“How’s your day?” He asks, curious against his wishes.

“Unproductive,” Yoongi shares curtly. He rubs his neck and sighs. “I hate this fucking heat.”

“It’s not that hot.” Jimin rolls his eyes. “You’re just packed in all black, you failed goth kid.”

Yoongi pushes him lightly with his shoulder, and Jimin snorts. He’s amazingly easy to rile up.

“It’s my aesthetic,” Yoongi says grumpily. “And I mainly operate in shadows. The black helps me fade into the background.”

“Yeah, because you’re totally fading in the middle of a campus in broad daylight.”

Yoongi groans dramatically, and Jimin can’t help but laugh, covering his mouth with the water bottle. Yoongi sees it and makes grabby hands, and Jimin knows, he just knows he’s pouting under the mask. He hands him the bottle, still smiling.

“Will you stay here?” He licks his lips and swallows. “Or walk me to class?”

Yoongi uncaps the bottle and puts his palm to his mask to take it off, thinking the question over.

“Would you want me to?” He blinks and looks down. “We could bump into someone who wouldn’t be happy to see me.”

Jimin sighs, watching how Yoongi does his beverage thing — he brings it to his nose and takes a sniff.

“I don’t know.” He’s looking at his hands, suddenly embarrassed. “I enjoy spending time with you. And I guess people who aren’t okay with that can go fuck themselves. And...” He looks at Yoongi and stops, realizing that Yoongi is frozen, the bottle still under his nose. His gaze is hard and unmoving. “Yoongi?”

Yoongi slowly pulls down his mask, uncovering his lips and chin, and takes another sniff of the water. Jimin notices that his teeth are gritted together, his nostrils flaring. He slowly looks over to Jimin and hands him the bottle.

“Smell it,” he orders, and Jimin fights the annoyance and obliges.

He goes to take the bottle away but Yoongi doesn’t let him, his fingers wrapped around it firmly. It means that Jimin has to lean closer, and he tries not to react too visibly to the smell of Yoongi’s skin when he focuses on the water and sniffs it.

“It’s just water...” He says, unsure if that’s the answer Yoongi has been looking for. What’s going on?

“You don’t feel it?” Yoongi asks, his voice hollow.

“What am I supposed to feel? What’s wrong?” He frowns, rubbing his chest to calm his nerves.

Yoongi caps the bottle and stands up, putting his mask back on and taking Jimin by the forearm.

“Let’s go.”

Jimin blinks. He has no other choice but comply since the look he saw on Yoongi’s face is terrifying. Something happened, and Jimin didn’t notice. Once fucking again.

He’s about to ask about the bike as they move through the square, but he sees Yoongi wave his hand at something at the side, and a second later, Mark appears in the crowd, as if materializing out of thin air, and goes to the vehicle. Huh. They _do_ fade into the background.

“Where are we going?” He asks, but there’s no answer, and it’s honestly annoying. He’s about to start falling into his old bitchy patterns when Yoongi feels it and lowers his palm from Jimin’s forearm to his hand, wrapping his fingers around Jimin’s.

Alright. Okay. They’re holding hands. Basically. How does he feel about it? Yoongi’s palm is big, Jimin’s own small fingers fitting into it so perfectly it makes his brain log out.

It comes back online only by the time they reach the PE building, and he suddenly realizes he knows where they’re going. What does Yoongi want with Hoseok?

He gets his answer fast enough when they burst into Hobi’s personal office, not bothering to knock. Yoongi looks like he could punch the first person to try and teach him etiquette, so Jimin stays silent, slightly scared and maybe a little attracted to him.

Hold the fuck up.

Okay. That is— A thought. That appeared in his mind as he was looking at the tremble of muscles under Yoongi’s skin, his hand still securely holding Jimin’s, his eyes angry and determined. An interesting thought.

He forces his attention to shift to Hoseok, who’s sitting at his desk, a woman across from him. She doesn’t look too bothered by someone interrupting the conversation, but Hobi looks like he’s on the brink of his kindness, which is saying a lot because Hoseok is the most sunshine person Jimin knows. Unless someone is messing it up in rehearsal. He’s grateful he learns fast and rarely makes mistakes, because he would never want to end up on the receiving end of Hoseok’s fury. Especially now that he knows he’s a freaking Poseidon.

“Hello, old friend, happy to see you,” Hoseok grits through his teeth. “I believe you know Siren.”

The woman smiles wider and nods at them, and Jimin can’t help but smile back. She’s beautiful. He can’t pinpoint what exactly it is about her but he knows that he can’t take his eyes off of her, and while she is definitely pleasant to look at, Jimin feels dumbfounded. Some part of him finds it strange because while he surely can appreciate someone’s beauty, he was flaming gay the last time he checked.

“You can call me Sunmi, Hoseok,” she says, her voice deep and attractive. The fuck? “I believe you are Jimin.”

Jimin blinks, waving awkwardly at her. He wants to step closer but feels pressure on his hand. He looks down on it with a frown and realizes that it’s Yoongi, his fingers looking way too much in place around his own. Jimin glances at his face, and just like that, the spell is broken, and his brain backtracks to screaming about the fact that Yoongi is the one Jimin is apparently attracted to.

Alright. Not thinking about _that_ right now.

“Yes, this is Jimin,” Yoongi grits out hastily. “Jimin, Siren is one of Poseidon’s, she’s also a Chem teacher here. Now, to the fucking case.”

He lets go of Jimin — a disappointing fact that Jimin finds himself frowning about — to get closer to the table and hand Hoseok the bottle he is so mad about.

Jimin looks around him. He’s been here more than once, but after the Saturday revelation, all the ship models and marine paintings as Hobi’s decorations make more sense. He just thought Hoseok is really into swimming, considering it’s one of the many extracurriculars he’s coaching.

The man himself, meanwhile, sniffs the water. It takes him merely a second to pull away and cover his mouth and nose with his sleeve. Sunmi looks intrigued, leaning over and taking it from him to smell it too.

“The hell are you trying to do?” Hoseok asks, coughing. “Poison me?”

Jimin feels his eyebrows fly up and looks at Yoongi just in time to see him hit the wall with his hand.

Oh, come on, even that looks hot. That’s just not fair.

But also — worrying. Jimin is near him in one moment, grabbing his fist and examining it for injuries, hissing at Yoongi for being an overdramatic idiot. His knuckles are red and covered in scratches, but they look like the old ones that reopened from the pressure. Why did he react like that?

Only then does it dawn on him — what Hoseok said. He raises his head slowly, his throat dry.

“Poison?” He mumbles barely audible. Yoongi breathes in loudly, and Jimin lets go of his hand to step away and try and gather himself.

“I wouldn’t say it’s poison.” He looks at Sunmi who does probably the weirdest thing Jimin has witnessed today. She pours a few drops on her hand and tastes them cautiously with her tongue. She smacks her lips and then waters it down with the tea before her. “But it’s definitely strong. My first guess is liquid ammonia mixed with something you’d only find at Hecate’s.”

“Where did you get it?” Hoseok asks, his face turning serious. He stands up to walk closer to Yoongi, and it obviously helps the latter to calm down a bit.

Jimin wishes he had the same effect on Yoongi. He usually just manages to annoy him more.

“It’s mine,” he raises his voice to get Hoseok to look at him and hopefully step away from Yoongi. Hopefully? What the hell? “I brought it with me from home. I guess I bought it at some point.” He feels anxious and scared, and he doesn’t know why. “When we were grocery shopping, remember?”

Yoongi looks over at him, his face still hard, and there’s probably something that he sees in Jimin’s eyes that make his own soften.

“Yeah,” he breathes out. “But I doubt they sell poisoned water at the supermarket.”

Sunmi stands up and walks up to him, her smile soft and soothing. “Did you leave it somewhere unattended?”

Jimin frowns, trying to remember when he got it into his bag. This morning, probably, when they were home. He took his books and looked into the fridge, his mouth dry. He was about to drink it when Wooseok knocked over a glass kettle, and they had to clean that up fast enough to get to college in class. He threw the water into his backpack on his way out and didn’t take it out until lunch.

“It was in the fridge since Saturday,” he concludes. “And then on me at all times.”

Yoongi makes an annoyed sound, throwing his hands up.

“That’s impossible,” he hisses, but Jimin desperately hopes he’s not doubting his words. “And the bitchiest part of it all? Jimin doesn’t smell it.”

He sees two sets of eyebrows fly up as if in unison and suddenly feels like he fucked up somewhere. But he can’t help it — he only smells water. Which is basically nothing. He definitely didn’t feel anything that made Hoseok cough.

“It’s possible, though,” Sunmi muses, her finger on her chin, her lips pursed in thought. “If he’s somehow immune to a certain ingredient. I told you — there’s something in it from Jungwoo’s shop. Magic is tricky like that, and I’m not that big of an expert on that part.”

Yoongi pinches the bridge of his nose between his fingers and groans. Jimin is staring at him, lost as to what to think, and it feels like Yoongi is mad _at_ him, and he rubs his chest, looking away.

“Jimin,” Hoseok calls out, something unreadable about his face expression. “I think it’s better if you went to class now. I’ll handle Yoongi. I’ll see you at practice.”

Jimin stares at him for a moment but makes himself nod. He grips the strap of his backpack and nods to Sunmi, turning around and walking out of the office, his entire body numb. The walk to his building is a haze, his mind racing with thoughts and feelings. The sun isn’t out anymore, and the grim skies only make his mood worse.

Who poisoned his water? And when? Yoongi told him that the surveillance around the apartment didn’t report any intruders. It was empty the whole time they were away. He checked that the bottle was sealed when he picked it up from the shelf. At least he thinks he did because it’s his standard procedure since his mom took him on his first supermarket trip. _‘Always check the expiration date and if the caps are tampered with.’_ And he always does it on autopilot, and he’s sure he did it this time even though he doesn’t remember actually buying it.

Why doesn’t he remember? Is it because he was distracted by Yoongi or because his fucking memory decided it’s overfilled and started deleting the files? Why doesn’t he recall so many shit?

Why was he at the Underworld on Halloween? How could he forget it? How could he forget meeting Tony? Why didn’t Taehyung ever bring it up? What the hell happened after?

He doesn’t want to cry. He doesn’t. He hates when people see his face wet because it means he’s weak and can’t handle his shit. He hates when his emotions take over him and make him wail like a baby. He hates giving up. He hates facing people who have to console him and rub him on the back and promise that everything will be okay. Because it is never okay.

Right now, however, there are no people around, so when he falls onto a bench between the trees and buries his face in his hands, letting the tears flow, nobody will see.

He feels the sword necklace cold on his chest and bites his lip to avoid sobbing too loud.

Nobody can see him. Nobody will think that he is weak. Nobody will use it against him.

So he lets himself cry.

IX

Taeyong sighs as he looks down at a text from Yoongi. The man has been running himself into the ground for the past few days since he found out that someone tampered with Jimin’s memories.

The Halloween tapes didn’t show anything useful. There were too many people, and even though they managed to spot Taehyung’s bright blue hair, Jimin was nowhere to be seen. After Jungkook shyly asked if Tae can ever bring that color back, the guy explained how Jimin was constantly in the crowd, dancing and getting drunk, and the only time he managed to catch him was when they were taking the pictures. After that, he only saw Jimin half an hour later when he asked them to leave. The outside cameras showed them leaving, Tony trying to support Jimin but the latter pushing him away. They disappeared into the night, and that’s when the tape ended. Yoongi was livid. He was out of town that day, having come back around the time they were still at the party but he didn’t even enter the club, going straight to the armory underneath the garage.

Aether’s report is still in the works, and the delay is understandable since Yoongi asked him to pinpoint one guy on the year worth of tapes of the entire city. They all get it but it doesn’t stop Yoongi from bitching about it every time he can.

It got worse after Monday. Taeyong managed to calm him down before he visited Jungwoo because he feared that otherwise Yoongi would do something incredibly stupid and ruin a perfect relationship with the strongest witch of this city. Hecate named all the ingredients in the poison except for two, and he got added to the list of people annoyed by the entire situation — the last Taeyong checked, Jungwoo wasn’t sleeping trying to identify the remaining parts. Taeyong doesn’t know if it’s professional curiosity or a soft spot he so quickly developed for Jimin. They all did at some point, and he would be annoyed if Jimin wasn’t the amazingly fitting addition to their ragtag team. He’s a little shit, smart and sharp, but he’s kind and loyal to Taehyung, and he makes Yoongi smile more — which is really the only argument Taeyong would need if someone tried to convince him to like the guy.

Jimin is also profoundly sad. There is something inside his mind that is eating him alive, but he still doesn’t give up, pushing through and fighting his demons. Taeyong knows Underworld material when he sees it, and Jimin would be such an amazing brother to them, if not only for the small fact that he hates even the thought of becoming one of them.

He doesn’t hate Yoongi, though, that is for sure. When they came here on Monday evening, he kept glancing at Yoongi when he wasn’t looking, something guilty in his eyes. The poor kid probably blames himself for someone trying to poison him, and Yoongi being constantly angry and cryptic doesn’t help, and sometimes Taeyong wants to punch him for being so dense. The attitude Yoongi has to the world right now is taking its toll on all of them, and Jimin is affected the most, no matter how much he tries to deny it — and Taeyong knows he does, he has eyes, brains, and expertise. It took Ten months to stop blaming himself for his past and finally open up to Taeyong about his feelings and insecurities. He tried to deny their attraction at first too, and all it achieved was more pain than was needed.

Gods, he just wishes it was easier. Criminals are dangerous and dark and threatening, but they also feel everything better than other people, their emotions and souls raw and sharp. They love fast and heal slow. He doesn’t want to imagine what will happen when Jimin will decide on what he wants to do about his heart and Yoongi’s place in it. And he’s afraid none of them are strong enough to help Yoongi pick up the pieces of himself if something goes wrong. As Taeyong sees it, there are only two options — Jimin joining them or Yoongi losing the last of what separates him and Ares. He’s too far in already.

He rubs his face and sighs. Yoongi’s text says he is at Jimin’s. Of course he is. It’s Wednesday already but Taeyong doesn’t think they ever separated for more than an hour. He wonders if Jimin finds it annoying and overwhelming and thinks if he wants to meddle.

He leans against the wall and looks around, waiting for Taehyung to join him. They’re meeting a few blocks away from the precinct, and the only reason they even do is Jungkook being out of town and unable to kick Taeyong’s ass for dragging his boyfriend into his little schemes. He knows Kook trusts him and his judgement, and he is well aware that Taeyong hates revealing his plans until he has some solid facts to back them up, and so he never bothers him when he’s being cryptic, but Taeyong doubts he would be happy if he knew who Tae recruited as his accomplice.

Taehyung is the only way he can get inside the precinct and hope that he won’t be noticed. Kim is a thorough bitch, and he is always watching who comes and goes, but if everything goes according to plan, he won’t even know one of the people he hates more than anything was on his territory.

The car pulls up by the curb, and he catches himself smiling when the driver’s window rolls down, and Ten is looking at him like he’s in some nineties movie about hookers getting makeovers.

Taeyong leans against the door, looking inside and raising his eyebrows.

“Hey, sugar, you looking for a date?” He purrs, trying to tap into his inner Julia Roberts. It mostly works, he thinks.

It only dawns on him what movie he’s referencing when he sees Ten’s eyes widen.

Yes. Because roleplaying a movie about a sex worker with his boyfriend who has a severe PTSD from the same profession is such a great fucking idea. Some part of his brain tries to reason that Ten is better now, not haunted by such frequent nightmares, his mind finally free from the shackles of his past, and another one wants him to slap himself. He agrees with it.

Ten, however, seems not to mind. He smiles wider and plays along, feigning confusion.

“No, I wanna find Beverly Hills, can you give me any directions?”

Taeyong almost faints from relief, and he can’t keep it up — he drops his head on his hands and laughs.

“You two are weird,” comes a voice, and he looks up to see Taehyung climb out of the car with a smile on his lips. Taeyong shrugs.

“You live with us for long enough — you’ll become a freak too.”

“Can’t wait,” Taehyung confesses, fixing his jacket. He looks fine, but there is a look to him that suggests he’s not that keen on visiting his father. He is determined, though. “Shall we?”

Taeyong gives Ten a quick peck on the cheek and reminds him to stick around and wait for them. He doesn’t know how this whole plan is going to go so it’s reasonable to have a getaway car nearby.

“Alright,” he starts when they round the corner and set off in the direction of the precinct. “I have a few people on the inside, but only one of them is working tonight. I didn’t tell him we’re coming, though.”

Taehyung frowns, putting his hand through his hair. Taeyong recalls him saying that his father hates when he’s disheveled. He smirks. The boy is the kindest soul Taeyong knows but he sure knows how to push people’s buttons.

“Why?” He wonders, crumpling his shirt on purpose.

“Because he’s...” Taeyong bites his lip and tilts his head, his eyes squinting. It’s hard to describe him. “You’ll see. It’ll go better if we just show up and leave him no choice but to help.”

“Isn’t that kinda...”

“Cruel? It is,” Taeyong agrees, smiling. “But trust me, he won’t mind. This way I’ll just have to suffer through less of his bitching.”

Taehyung raises his eyebrows fleetingly but nods. He is psyching himself up, Taeyong can guess, because they’re almost there. He can already see police cars parked before a grand building, people moving around. There’s some commotion, and he hopes to use it to his advantage.

“Wait, are we just going to walk in the front door?” Taehyung wonders, looking at Taeyong like he’s mad but he respects that.

Taeyong smirks, fixing his gun under his jacket. He doesn’t like to use it, and he rarely has to since he operates within the walls of the Hotel, but he can manage it just well. He just hopes he won’t have to. They don’t need this mess on their hands right now. He pulls out a mask and a cap from his pocket and puts them on.

“I need to avoid your father. He’s going to see you on the camera and focus on that,” he explains, fixing the mask and wondering if it’s white enough. “But I need someone else to notice me. I want her fidgeting.”

“Are you gonna tell me who is it you really want to meet?” Taehyung rubs his neck. He’s probably uncomfortable about hiding this ordeal from Jungkook but he trusts Taeyong, and that’s nice.

Trust is a currency with them, and Taeyong probably needs to take a few lessons from Taehyung in dealing it. He thinks about Johnny. If it goes alright tonight, he’ll get the answers he needs to calm his mind.

He puts on his leather gloves.

“I will,” he promises. “But not now.”

It’s nothing but it’s enough for Tae. Taeyong is grateful for Jungkook’s taste in men, honestly.

They get to the building and stop talking because Taeyong doesn’t want to attract the attention of uniformed officers. They occupy the first two floors, and they make it without delays, opting for the stairwell to avoid bumping into someone they don’t want in the elevator.

Taeyong looks up when they enter the third floor that houses detectives. He knows the layout well enough, and he knows where the cameras are. They’re hacked by Aether, naturally, but they never show what the Underworld needs to see. Nobody knows how Kim managed to bypass the regulations and position the surveillance in a completely useless way, but he did, and that is why it’s almost impossible to infiltrate Kim’s team. The keyword here is almost. He winks at the camera, hoping she’s watching, and looks around.

There are people all about, way more than it’s supposed to be, and it plays into their hand. Taeyong leads Taehyung away from his father’s office to a cluttered desk in the corner.

A man is hunched over it, focused on putting something into a cup of coffee. Taeyong knows it’s not poison but it is also most definitely not sugar. He waits until the guy finishes pouring salt in the cup and mixes it with a cartoonish evil cackle.

“Do you _want_ to get fired?” Taeyong muses, smirking.

The guy shoots up, his hand going to his gun but he remembers in time that he’s in the middle of a police precinct. Taeyong smiles innocently at him and watches with amusement how his alarmed face gradually turns into one of a martyr.

“Oh, fuck off, honestly,” he groans, throwing his head back and cursing at the heaven. Or, well, at the ceiling. He looks back down and purses his lips, annoyed. “The fuck are you doing here? The asshole is in his office. I was just about to go give him his coffee.”

Taehyung gasps suddenly and covers his giggle with his hand.

“So _you’re_ Jackson!” He exclaims, and they both look at him in wonder. “Father told me about the detective that keeps messing up his food. I don’t know why he still asks you to get him anything. He hates you, says you’re a menace.”

Jackson grins widely, immensely proud of himself, and fixes his hair, looking Taehyung over.

“And you are the infamous disobedient son!” He says, excitement written all over his face. “You’re a legend, man.”

Taehyung snorts shyly. It’s nice to see his smile, his nervousness dissipating upon someone finding to share his annoyance with Kim with.

Jackson is... Something. He has the most idiotic sense of humor _and_ fashion Taeyong knows, but he’s also smart as all hell, which is probably the main reason he’s been managing to work as a detective for Kim for all these years without getting caught red-handed in helping out the gangs. He’s basically one of them, his role in the Jaebeom’s crew fixed, but nobody here ever suspects it, which is saying a lot, considering Kim is doubtful of everyone. Even his own son. That one is justified, though.

“Now that we established that,” Taeyong says, cracking his knuckles. “I need your help. Would you happen to know where the _Red Velvet_ office is?”

The smile immediately falls from Jackson’s face to be replaced with a scowl. He glances at the corridor a few desks over.

“Those annoying snakes?” He clarifies even though it’s obvious he knows who Taeyong means. “They’re down that corridor. Let me tell you something.” He crosses his arms on his chest, puffing it. “I work here for four years, and they scoff at me for asking an extra desk. These shits appear here ‘with _their own funding’_ and get a whole wing for the five of them. _Five_ , Taeyong. That’s unfair, because I’m an exemplary employee.”

Taeyong sighs deeply.

“You literally just poured salt into your boss’s coffee,” he deadpans. “And your extracurricular activities aren’t that exemplary for a police detective.”

Jackson gasps dramatically, his eyes widening, and Taeyong knows he’s about to start whining, so he puts his hand up.

“I don’t have time for this,” he says curtly but smiles. “But I’ll have time to listen to your complaints next Tuesday fourteen years from now. That good?”

Jackson flips him off and scowls. Taehyung snorts at him and puts his hand on his shoulder.

“Let’s exchange numbers and text each other insults about my dad,” he suggests, already pulling out his phone.

Jackson grins and points his finger at Tae’s chest.

“Now _that_ is a true friend,” he says pompously and takes Taehyung’s phone to put in his number.

Taeyong rolls his eyes and looks around as inconspicuous as he can. People don’t seem to pay them any attention, and it’s mostly justified by the fact that they generally tend to avoid this corner when they hear Jackson’s voice. Finally, his annoyingness pays off. He looks down the corridor that Jackson indicated and notices how people pass it without sparing it a second glass. He feels his heartbeat quicken. This is it. Almost the moment of truth.

He catches something out of the corner of his eye and feels panic shoot through him. He turns back around as slowly as he can.

“Taehyung,” he says quietly, pulling his mask further up his face. “Your father just came out of his office.”

The cheery atmosphere is gone in a second, and he sees the immediate change in Tae’s face. Jackson grabs the coffee he made and walks around them to cover Taeyong.

“Go, now,” he hisses. “We can buy you ten minutes, and you better make them count.”

Taeyong nods curtly and waits for a group of officers deep in conversation to pass to hide behind them on his way to the corridor. As soon as he’s there, he sneaks in, hiding behind a metal cabinet.

He glances out cautiously and sees Kim notice his son and make his way over. Taehyung looks cold and detached but it’s obviously an act. He smiles slightly at his father, and it looks so painful that Taeyong turns around and walks down the corridor, keeping by the wall. He passes another camera and looks at it grimly.

_I know you’re watching. You can hide but I’m coming anyway._

It takes him a few moments to turn the corner and finally see the place he wanted to catch a glimpse of ever since he first heard about the new unit coming into the precinct.

Jackson was right. _Red Velvet_ occupies the entire wing, about eight doors in sight. Five of them are marked with initials, and he stops before a “K.S.” one, gritting his teeth, before making his way further. There’s a lab and a holding cell, with an interrogation room right beside it.

But the one he’s looking for is at the end of the corridor, the matted glass empty of any writings. He still feels he knows what’s behind it.

He doesn’t bother knocking. He figures she’s either gone or expecting him anyway. He opens the door slowly, slipping in and closing it behind him.

It’s half-lit, the blinds pulled down almost all the way. The main source of light are a few lamps, all focused around a big map of the city. He notices dozens of post-it notes on it before he turns his attention to the figure by the window.

She’s standing with her back turned, her frame in the shadows. He feels his pulse quicken. How long has it been? Six years, seven? Too long.

“Aren’t you going to greet me?” He wonders, pulling down his mask and tilting his head.

He hears a snicker. She turns around slowly, coming into the light, and Taeyong feels shock mixed with disappointment crash into him. It’s not her.

“It would imply we know each other.” The woman’s hands are crossed on her chest, her red lipstick bright on an oval face. “Which we don’t.”

Taeyong swallows, taking control of his emotions. He made a mistake somewhere.

No. He couldn’t have. There’s too many coincidences.

“I’m sure you’ve heard of me, though,” he drawls, coming closer. The mask of calmness comes easy to him, considering it’s his usual state, and he takes his time talking to give his racing mind time to calm down. “Orpheus.”

“I know,” she confirms, stepping closer to him.

They meet halfway, right before the map. Taeyong looks her over. Simple office dress, high heels. No jacket to hide a gun under but something tells him she isn’t helpless without it.

“And you are?” He wonders. There’s a calculating look in her eyes, and while it’s expected, Taeyong still doesn’t like it. “I’ll find out sooner or later, anyway. But it’s better to make our acquaintances now.”

She smirks a little, drumming her nails on her arm.

“Irene.”

He nods, filing the information away. He turns to the map, tilting his head to read the notes scribbled in a hasty manner. Handwriting seems familiar but it’s probably just his wishful thinking.

They’re portfolios, not too different from the reports Seventeen do for them, and he wonders if Irene has a habit of making her personal notes under the official information just like the Aether’s crew likes to do.

He spots his own name and feels bile rise in his throat as he traces the red thread leading up to the note with Ten’s name scribbled on it. There’s also green threads connecting him to Yoongi and, right on top of the map, Jungkook. Namjoon and Hoseok are also there. The three of them has the most information written on them.

He quickly traces the threads from Yoongi’s name and feels relief washing over him when he doesn’t find anything connected to Jimin. There’s also nothing about Taehyung which seems more suspicious than lucky.

“You’ve done quite a good job with your little project,” he comments, smirking.

Irene raises her eyebrows, looking at the board. There’s a thoughtful expression on her face, and for a moment it seems they’re just two people having a polite conversation, and not the ones standing on two opposite ends of a moral compass.

“I had help,” she shares, her voice calm. “But, for sure, you know yourself how nice it is to have a team supporting you.”

He blinks, holding up his hand and tracing a few threads from Jungkook’s note. There’s dozens of them, each ending on various dots on the map.

“It’s even better to have an army,” he responds, looking her straight in the eye. She’s looking at his hand, and Taeyong holds his smirk back. She probably would love it if he touched something in this office without his gloves on. He fixes them demonstratively and sighs. Irene snaps her gaze back to his face. She can look at it all she wants. He didn’t pull his mask down to show off. He needs her to remember his features, considering she isn’t the one he was expecting to see.

“You have something of mine,” she says, perking her chin up. She’s beautiful, Taeyong thinks. She’s even more deadly. “I’d like it back.”

“Nah.” He thinks about the prisoner in their basement. He won’t ever leave it if Yoongi has something to do with it. His death sentence was signed the second he broke in to Hecate. “He’ll stay where he is. He’s not that talkative, but I like venting to him. He’s a good listener.”

She grits her teeth at his mocking tone, and he smirks against his wishes. It’s fun. He wonders if that’s how the others feel when they corner their prey. Taeyong always preferred staying indoors, managing the paperwork and the politics, leaving the field work to others, and he’s not planning on changing that any time soon. It still feels powerful.

He remembers about the ticking clock of his stay here and pouts his lips in thought.

“We could make a deal, though.” Bullshit. “Just tell me where your leader is, and I’ll hand over the bellboy first thing tomorrow.” Even more bullshit. They both know it but he still feels interest in her eyes.

“Easy,” she snorts. “It’s me.”

Ah. Two can play at this game, huh? He laughs mockingly and goes back to the map, trying to memorize what exactly they know. There’s a list with numbers on the right, and he recognizes the dates. It’s their supposed shipment days, and he feels smug when he sees the few of past ones crossed over with bright red. They must’ve been pissed when they arrived to the docks and realized there’s too many people to attack. Sometimes, there was nobody. Yoongi is a smart bean. The plan to mix up their schedules worked.

He looks back to the notes, finding his own and pointing his finger to the line reading _’Sharp. Resourceful. Hard to fool.’_.

“You gotta use your own info, you know?” He smirks at her, raising his eyebrows. “I knew it wasn’t you before I even came here.”

“Why ask, then?” She wonders, squinting.

He shrugs, finding the only source that can help him now — Johnny’s note.

 _’Loyal.’_ He grits his teeth. That word again.

 _’FAVOR’_ is written in bold black, and he feels anger shoot up through him. What favor it is everyone keeps talking about? Who did what to make it overrule everything he ever believed about Johnny? What really happened in February?

He breathes in deeply through his nose and turns to her fully, sticking a smirk on his lips. He can act when he needs to.

“Tell her I said hi,” he asks, giving her one last look before turning around and making it to the door. Irene is gritting her teeth, her fingers squeezing her arms so tight they whiten. He enjoys it. She needs to be nervous. He throws one last glance at the board where the names of his family and friends are written, their lives and personalities reduced to a few lines on a sheet of paper. “And that I hope she still remembers how it feels to have my hands around her throat.”

He leaves then, thinking that if Red Velvet ever comes up with a way to hurt them, he’ll make sure he’s the one carrying out the death sentence.

 

Irene breathes out as soon as the door closes. Her entire body feels like a naked wire, and she would have gladly taken him out right there and then, but she has her orders. She slowly wills her body to relax and pulls out her phone. The familiar number lights up the screen.

She picks up on the second ring.

“You were right,” Irene grits out. “He was wearing gloves.”

There’s a snort on the other end of the line, followed by a deep sigh.

“He’s still arrogant enough to come inside the precinct, but at least he’s learned to be cautious.” If Irene didn’t know better she’d think there’s admiration in her voice. She licks her lips, annoyed.

“We need to come through with the plan B,” Irene offers. “We can’t have any delays.”

“Already on it, darling,” she purrs. “Make sure Yeri is in position.”

She hangs up then, and Irene is left staring at her phone, silently wondering. She sighs and texts Yeri. She just said it herself — they can’t have any delays. The plan has been in workings for months now, and it’s finally time.

IX

Hwitaek pours rum into what must be an eleventh glass and fixes it with soda before handing in to Lisa.

The girl takes it gracefully, accidentally overspilling it on her hand, but even before she can get upset, Hyuna gently takes her palm and licks the drops away. Lisa giggles and kisses her, and Hwitaek goes back to his place with a smile. Jong is waiting for him, his gaze distracted.

“What is on your mind, oh dear Apollo?” He wonders softly, wrapping his arm around Hyojong’s waist. He looks up, frowning slightly as he focuses his gazes on Hwitaek and blinking.

“The night I came into this place,” he says bluntly.

It’s always like this with Hyojong. He can be vague and secretive but if you’re the right person or ask the right questions — he’s blatantly honest.

All of them remember that night clearly. He was signing off on a new shipment, and it still makes him angry — the fact that he still calls them shipments in his mind. Those weren’t guns or alcohol that came to the club that night.

They were people. Around a dozen of teenagers, dirty and scared, yet among them — two siblings, holding hands quietly as they waited for their fate to unravel. Hwitaek didn’t pay them much attention but he remembers wondering as to how did someone of such rare beauty end up here.

He wasn’t in charge of training the hosts then. He didn’t even have anything to do with them, his morals rotten and lost years ago but his mind still believing that the less he knew — the better. Uranus trusted him to make sure that the logistics and management were running smoothly while he indulged his own, rather disgusting, desires.

Hwitaek remembers it was Ten who first told him about the Kim siblings. They were… Friends, he might say. Hwitaek was in denial but he wasn’t blind. He knew what were done to the hosts inside of the private rooms yet he hid it in a little locked room in his mind for years and didn’t interact with hosts too much. He knew them by name and sometimes talked to them, but Ten was the only one who managed to catch his interest enough to consider them friends. He’s stubborn, that one. They tended to have a few cigarettes on the upper floor every night, and during one of those, Ten told him that the new kids are curious.

_”They’re what, seventeen?” He said, taking a drag. He just dyed his hair silver, and it highlighted his collarbones. Hwitaek noticed he’s too thin and wondered if he’s being starved to remain skinny, or he’s doing it to himself, hoping to slowly fade away. “But they look and talk like they have ancient souls. Uranus says he wants to make them Eleventh when it’s time.”_

 

There wasn’t any darkness in his voice at those last words, and Hwitaek wondered whether he’s dreading the day he is no longer Tenth or eagerly awaiting it. There’s only one way out of being the Numbered.

 

“Both of them?” He blinked in surprise. “But they’re siblings.”

 

Ten looked at him with his eyebrows raised, choosing to stay silent, but Hwitaek understood him perfectly anyway. Nothing ever stopped Uranus when he got another vile idea.

 

“He wants me to train them.” Ten rubbed his neck, putting out a cigarette. “I mean, I expected it, but… I don’t know, man, some part of me hopes that something happens that…”

 

He never finished his sentence, probably choosing not to announce his thoughts to the guy who, no matter their friendship, was Uranus’ personal assistant. Hwitaek would never rat him out, but Ten was right. The less he knew.

 

_“I saw them a few times around the manor, you know,” Ten added, biting his lips. “When I was called to the Olympus to… Work. They were always so quiet and… They just fit, man. Everywhere.”_

It took Hwitaek a few weeks to find out more about them. Hyojong caught his eye immediately but it wasn’t until he approached Hwitaek himself that anything happened.

He looks at him now, safe and sound in his arms, blood in his cheeks and gold in his hair. He kisses the crown of his head.

“I only wish I could've gotten you out sooner,” he murmurs. He notices Hyuna watching them with a soft smile playing on her lips.

“You would not have been able to, darling,” Hyojong hums. “We were the property of Uranus, and we stayed where we were ordered to.”

He purses his lips. No matter what was done to them, both Hyojong and Hyuna believed in the course of fate. They thought that everything in life happened for a reason, and everything meant to happen will inevitably come to be. From the day they were taken from the street in the broad daylight to serve at Cronus’ manor, to the point when they were sold to wait tables at one of the underground clubs run by Uranus, and to the day the man decided they are bloomed enough to take the roles of hosts — they believed it as their path, and never blamed the heavens for their sufferings. Only the people.

“I remember you two from when we were kids,” Lisa raises her voice, taking a sip. She’s drinking a lot today but she doesn’t even look tipsy. Moreso — she looks saner than when she’s sober, the fire in her eyes subdued and warm. “Running around the manor and doing whatever shit Papa desired.”

She still misses him, Hwitaek realizes. Cronus took her in and adopted her and turned her into a little assasin when she was just a kid but she still misses him. He wonders if she’s projecting her love for Jennie onto the memories of her father. Her face is soft and smiling now, but he knows it can turn into a deadly scowl any second. Jennie was the only one able to hold her, and now she’s unstable and unpredictable. Yet she fits right in with the three of them.

“It is so strange,” Hyuna notes thoughtfully. “I remember seeing Jennie every day. She was so kind and bright, and then… She was just gone.”

Hwitaek wonders what compels her to bring it up now. Maybe she was thinking about Jennie’s influence on Lisa too. He takes a sip out of his drink. It’s the last one. The bottles near him are empty so he calls for one of the waiters. The club employs a few people who wish to make money but are not excited about the prospect of having sex for it. Hwitaek changed everything he could in this place to make it a safe haven for those lost souls who needed it.

“Jennie just left to take care of some business,” Lisa says lightly, her lips trembling — she purses them together. She looks fine but it’s obvious there’s trouble on her mind. “She’ll come back. She promised me.”

Hwitaek sighs softly. Hyojong suddenly presses closer, his face sad, and he wraps his hands around the boy to show him he’s safe.

“Why were you thinking about that night?” Hwitaek asks softly, turning the conversation back to the start.

“I don’t know,” Hyojong confesses, his brow furrowed. “Just thinking about how long we’ve come since then.”

They did. They fought the odds and established the order _they_ wanted. Jungkook was right — they wouldn’t be able to have their business without the support of the gangs, but he also was wrong. They achieved what they did themselves, with only hushed whispers of planning and a knife in Hwitaek’s hand, covered in Uranus’ blood.

The silence settles over them, music softly playing from the vinyl player. It’s Hyojong’s little hobby — collecting the tapes and playing them whenever he can, his mind going mad if it’s too silent. Hwitaek tries to imagine his life without two of the dearest to him. That will never happen. This city may be going through a rough patch, but he knows they will pull through. There’s too much power in its veins.

Their peace is interrupted when one of the girls comes in with a soft smile. She puts a few bottles and clean glasses in front of them, and takes the dirty ones with her when she leaves. She closes the door to the office softly and makes her way through the hall and into the kitchen, greeting the girls coming in for their shift.

The normal thing would be to put the bottles in the trash and the glasses — in the sink, but she bypasses the washing station, making her way to the back exit in the farthest end, the one used so rarely that there are boxes piled up beside it, covered in dust. She looks around, making sure she’s not being followed, and slips outside.

It’s already dark, and it plays into her hand when she sees a small figure emerge from the shadows with an open bag in hands. She carefully puts everything in the bag and nods to the figure, not waiting for a reply before she slips back into the _Triple H._

IX

Jimin hears a hiss and a clutter of metal and snaps his head up, trying to see what happened.

He’s on the living room floor, surrounded by what must be a hundred of paper clips, and he can see Yoongi’s legs in the kitchen. He stands up, wincing when he feels the cramps in his knees, and takes a few steps toward Yoongi.

The man is standing near the counter, his finger in his mouth, his pout full on. Jimin feels something in his chest against his wishes and comes closer, schooling his expression into a judgemental one. He looks at Yoongi pointedly, and the man glares at him but shows him the finger he cut.

“You can handle guns,” Jimin sighs, opening one of the cabinets and taking out a first-aid kit. “But you can’t make a sandwich without cutting your finger.”

He feels rather than sees Yoongi’s pout intensify as he pulls out the peroxide. It almost makes him smile.

They’re alone in the apartment, Taehyung having left yesterday for the weekend at the Underworld. It was a lengthy ordeal — to organize the transfer, but it seemed that Tae took the last weekend trip as a tradition rather than an anomaly that it was, and so Yoongi had no choice but to let him go, dozen of guards throughout the city, all the cameras controlled by Aether, and the route so complicated it’d probably take less time walking there.

Jimin stayed behind because he doesn’t have gang fiances in the Hotel, and he still wishes to finish his degree, which means he has to do his homework. His history project is burning him out but he has to finish it. He has to know.

Yoongi stayed with him, and there was no doubt on that part. Jimin would be secretly happy with that, but his mind still feels like a mess every time he looks at Yoongi after the events of the week.

He puts Yoongi’s hand over the sink, dripping peroxide over it. Yoongi hisses again but Jimin just rolls his eyes. What a baby, honestly. Fearless Ares his ass.

It’s strange to be so close to Yoongi in the light of day. He’s used to being in his arms at night, his little shameful secret, his desire to fall asleep greater than his guilt and confusion. They still sleep in one bed while some other guard is keeping watch in the living room, but ever since Monday, he keeps avoiding meeting Yoongi’s eyes in the morning, afraid that he’ll guess Jimin had a breakdown over catching a glimpse of the real Yoongi. He doesn’t know why he cares. He asked to know, and it is only logical for Yoongi to know the real Jimin, too, but it feels too frightening to open up.

It’s even more frightening to slowly realize that he doesn’t need to tell him anything — Yoongi already somehow knows. He knows him, and it’s scary. He feels him, and it’s terrifying.

“You haven’t eaten anything today,” Yoongi murmurs quietly. “I wanted to make you a snack or something.”

Jimin swallows, trying to contain his smile as he dries his hand and puts a bandaid on the finger. He stays silent as he works, and it’s honestly way too long to apply a simple sticky cloth, but he takes his time, making sure it will hold a few hours until the blood stops running and Yoongi can take it off to let the cut heal. He clears his throat and looks up, his eyes somewhere on Yoongi’s neck.

“Yeah, I tend to forget I need nutrition when I work,” he explains and nods to himself, turning around to walk back to the living room. He can’t — there’s a hand on his forearm, and he stops in his tracks, still not looking up.

They haven’t talked much since Monday. Jimin doesn’t know what to say. He misses their banter and all those feelings that come when he makes Yoongi smile, but it still feels as if Yoongi is mad at _him_ for almost getting poisoned. He knows it’s bullshit, but Yoongi staying grim and silent doesn’t help the case.

“Look at me, please,” Yoongi asks softly, and there’s something raw in his voice. Jimin raises his eyes to his ear but still can’t make himself meet Yoongi’s eyes. Yoongi sighs. His grip is gentle, and Jimin could get away if he wanted, but here’s the thing — he doesn’t. “I’m sorry, Jiminnie.”

It’s soft and quiet, but it hits Jimin right in his chest, and he swallows, feeling his eyes sting. Oh, for fuck’s sake. Why is he turning into such a crybaby?

“It’s okay.”

“It’s not,” Yoongi contradicts, and Jimin agrees. It isn’t. He just has troubles trying to express it. His feelings and thoughts are a mess, and every time Yoongi appears in them, they get tangled even more. He wishes he could reboot his system to see things clearer. “I reacted badly on Monday, but I swear that I wasn’t mad at you. I was just… Mad near you.”

He wonders if Yoongi figured it out himself, or someone helped him. Jimin imagines Taehyung and Taeyong gathering a council to scold Yoongi and open his eyes on Jimin’s state of mind. It’s an impossible and strange thought but it almost makes him smile. Whatever happened, Yoongi knows about it now, and Jimin isn’t sure if he’s okay with that. Honesty. Let’s try honesty.

“I know,” Jimin says quietly but flinches. “I mean. I tried to convince myself that it’s what it is, but there’s always this little voice in my head…”

He doesn’t know how to describe it.

But Yoongi gets in nevertheless.

“I’m just so…” He sees Yoongi swallow. “Jimin, I’m just so…”

It’s hard for him to say whatever he wants to, and Jimin wishes desperately that it was easier for them. They seem to joke and exchange some deep random thoughts about destiny well enough, but when it’s _them_ , this strange mix of emotions and feelings and confusion, and the glances and touches, and their dynamics fitting each other — it’s hard to make the words come.

“Shit, nevermind,” Yoongi finally gives up but something screams out in Jimin’s head and he snaps his head up, finally meeting his tired eyes.

“No, say it,” he asks, clenching his jaw to keep his emotions under the control. “Please.”

Yoongi searches his eyes for something, desperation in his own, and Jimin begs for him to find whatever he’s looking for. It feels like he should. It feels like Jimin is slowly losing his grip on what’s happening with his heart. It feels right.

“I’m just so fucking scared for you,” Yoongi breathes out in a whisper, and Jimin feels his entire body go weak from the onslaught of emotions, but he stays put, standing strong before the man that, he slowly comes to realize, means much more to him than he thought just a week ago. Yoongi jerks his head, looking down, but Jimin puts his hand on his fingers, making him look up. Yoongi is standing still but it feels like his entire body is fired up with electricity, the air around them cracking with it. He puts his hand on Jimin’s shoulder, his gaze fixed on his fingers on Jimin’s skin. “I’m scared that I won’t be enough to protect you. I’m scared that one day I won’t be there in time. I’m scared that I can’t keep you safe from everything the Underworld brings.”

His fingers feel like fire, and it’s strange. It has never felt like this. Nobody ever made Jimin experience such a great emotional whiplash, and he tries to unbury the thoughts he had on Monday. Yoongi is doing something to his soul, something new and old, something that has already been waiting to happen under Jimin’s skin — he’s just only now discovering it. He blinks, feeling the breath leave his lips.

“I can’t tell you not to be,” he starts, feeling as if this conversation is more important than any other they’ve had before. “I can’t tell you what not to feel. And it’s not like you don’t have a reason — somebody keeps trying to destroy me.” The curse, the memories, the poisoned water. He can’t deny that someone is after him, and he wishes he knew the reason, but something tells him it’s not the time yet. “But I can tell you one thing, Yoongi. I trust you.”

There’s something burning in the air, and he feels the heat of it when he looks at Yoongi. He takes Yoongi’s hand off of his shoulder, but only to put his own on his palm. It’s mesmerizing — to see how they look together.

“And even if you fail,” he continues. “Even if something happens to me… I will go knowing that I was protected by Ares. And that will mean that whatever happened — would have happened anyway. Because there is nobody in this city who could be a better wall to hide behind.”

Yoongi smiles a little, and it feels like the mountain lifts off Jimin’s shoulders.

“You know you’re more than just an assignment to me, right?” He asks, tilting his head, and Jimin bites his lips, feeling something glowing under his ribs.

“I know,” he whispers, nodding slightly. “And you… I don’t… You’re a friend,” he finally says, and Yoongi looks like he wants to laugh but not in a mean way. Jimin probably looks like a flustered chick. At least that’s how he feels. “We’re friends.”

“I guess we are.” Yoongi smirks. It’s better. “And I’m sorry again. I didn’t behave like a friend.”

Jimin raises an eyebrow, his eyes widening comically.

“Well, you behaved like a friend with a murderous agenda, so.” He smiles wider, and just like that — they’re okay.

Yoongi turns to the counter and flinches.

“Well, those are ruined,” he comments, looking at his unsuccessful attempt at making Jimin lunch. It’s cute. “Wanna order something?”

Jimin grabs Yoongi’s wrist and looks at his watch, scrunching up his face.

“Nah, we’re leaving for the party in like an hour.” He sighs, remembering that.

He goes back to the living room, plumping down on the floor and trying to get his mind back into the project. Yoongi follows him, lying down on the couch on his stomach, and measuring Jimin with his gaze.

“You don’t look too excited,” he comments. “We can cancel if you’re… Having second thoughts.”

Jimin looks at him, knowing exactly what he means. He purses his lips and looks down on his palms.

Tony. He wants to break up with Tony tonight. Ask him to leave his life and never call again.

Because he keeps doing it — texting and calling, and Jimin is tired of ghosting him, but he has no other choice. There was something between them once, but he can’t find an ounce of peace he felt with Tony when he searches his soul. It’s like it was all just a dream where he convinced himself he loves a guy he cannot even see now. What happened to him? What changed so much that he can’t even stand a thought of Tony touching him? He looks at Yoongi.

“No, that’s still on.” He tries not to analyze the way Yoongi’s shoulders relax when he hears that. He wants to, but he doesn’t have the time. “I just feel uneasy.”

He shrugs with one shoulder, messing up his hair.

“Plus, this fucking project is driving me insane,” he growls, throwing an angry look at the offending papers. “There is nothing, absolutely nothing in the records before the fire in 1987.” He bites his lip and looks at Yoongi, calculating. “Wait, were you around then? Do you remember it?”

Yoongi blinks in surprise.

“How old do you think I am?” He asks, offended, and Jimin smirks, pointedly looking him over.

“I wouldn’t give you more than fifty,” he says, feigning seriousness. He ducks just in time to avoid a pillow flying his way.

Yoongi looks like a fluffed up owl, grumpy and annoyed. Jimin can’t help but laugh. It’s only been a few days, but he missed this.

“I was born a year after,” Yoongi informs him with a pout, and Jimin almost coos at him but doesn’t — there’s so many times he can avoid getting his ass beaten. “But I’ve heard stories.”

Jimin perks up, scooching closer to the couch so that their faces are on the same level. Yoongi’s head is perched on his hand.

“I completely missed the fact that you’re better than any library,” Jimin breathes out in excitement. “You’ve been all over the city, surely you know a lot about it history?”

Yoongi blinks, taken aback, but sighs after a moment.

“Well, the kids at my orphanage said they didn’t remember anything about their lives before coming there,” he starts, and Jimin realizes something — he didn’t know Yoongi is an orphan. He didn’t know such a simple yet meaningful thing, yet the fact that Yoongi is telling him now means that they truly are friends. It’s nice. “It’s like… It was always here, you know? It just existed. And then Cronus came.”

Jimin rubs his chin. He never thought about it. The city was always connected to the crime part of it, and it’s stupid that he didn’t think of using that before. The stories of what was happening behind the scenes may help him figure out what’s the play is all about.

“He just brought his gang here?” Jimin wonders, trying to imagine how it was before. If it was calm before the criminals came, ot if it was a hell that they established an order in.

“You could say that,” Yoongi muses, his eyes unseeing. “He married a daughter of one of the most powerful druglords in the neighboring city. They say Rhea’s family never liked him but they still stuck with her choice. Naturally, Cronus didn’t enjoy living surrounded by people who didn’t count him as a family, so he came here and started his own, beginning the nicknames tradition. He didn’t have much support back then, but Rhea convinced her sister, Chaerin, to help them. Chaerin did it for her and for Namjoon who, they say, was a chubby little cutie.” Jimin snorts, trying to imagine the guy they call Zeus as a child. He never met him but he just knows that kid had dimples that made everyone fall in love with him. “She still visits, by the way. Chaerin. We call her Auntie, and she helped us when Jungkook embarked on the whole starting-the-Underworld path.”

Jimin tries to imagine the woman in question, her power extending far beyond her own city.

“She’s the only one left from the old family,” Yoongi shares. “Her son is in charge now, but she’s still as badass as she was thirty years ago. I met him, by the way, quite a feisty fellow, that Louis. His husband is the most chill contract killer you’ll ever meet.” Jimin suddenly feels excited, the wish to meet someone from outside the city washing over him. What is this? A few weeks ago he wanted nothing to do with the Underworld, and now he suddenly finds himself wishing to meet other criminals?

“That sounds powerful,” he notes, and Yoongi smiles slightly, focusing his gaze on Jimin.

“It is,” he confirms. “I told you. Criminals are… We are family. Sometimes in more ways than just metaphorical.”

Jimin looks back down on his papers, looking them over. He sorted everything by year but it never occurred to him to do it by fields. He’s sure that if he tries to, he can trace the entire history of Cronus’ criminal activities.

“Why do you want to know so badly?” Yoongi inquires. “I thought your project was to report on the history of the city. You found the beginning — just go from there.”

Jimin sighs and rubs his face, making a suffering sound.

“I don’t know,” he whines. “I just always… I always want to know what’s going on behind the usual picture. Places that seem to never have existed, pictures that seem to never have been taken, memories…” He thinks about Halloween. “Memories that seem to never have been created.”

He doesn’t see the look on Yoongi’s face because he’s too busy studying his palms, the lines of his fate and life intertwining and creating a mess of a pattern. He’s tired. He’s so fucking tired. He just wishes he could remember.

“I’ll go shower,” he sighs, standing up. “And then I’ll put on my clothes, and make myself look like the hottest piece of ass, because I may not feel anything for Tony anymore, but he still needs to know who exactly he’s losing.”

He looks down at Yoongi who looks skeptical at best and mocking at worst. Jimin purses his lips and looks at him pointedly until he gets the hint and sputters.

“Uhm, yeah!” Yoongi throws his fist in the air, faking excitement. “You go! You’re a bad bitch!” His voice is tiny and high-pitched, and Jimin rolls his eyes and slaps him with a pillow before leaving for his room.

“I wouldn’t have to suffer this disrespect from Taehyung,” he murmurs, almost by the door.

There’s a snicker from the couch, and Jimin smiles softly.

Friends.

“Jimin?”

He turns around, already in the room.

“Yeah?”

“How did you find out about the fire in the first place?” Yoongi is holding one of the clippings, not looking at him. “As far as I know, it’s not on any records.”

Jimin frowns, recalling the day a week ago. It seems like years have passed, with everything that happened to him.

“A librarian told me.” He blinks, remembering the guy. “He was strange but useful. An unsettling guy in specs.”

He doesn’t wait for the answer, closing the door behind him, so he misses the way Yoongi crumples up the paper in his fist, anger shooting through his veins.

IX

Yoongi is convinced Park Jimin actually hates him and wants him to die of an aneurysm at such a ripe age. Yes, this is it. This is Jimin’s great plan — take them out one by one, starting with Yoongi.

He can’t seem to get his brain to function. They’re almost by the Underworld now, waiting for the light to turn green, and Yoongi is driving on autopilot, because his mind is still occupied by the image of Jimin when he came out of his room, announcing that he’s ready to go. Yoongi is proud to say he didn’t choke on his coffee, but he did space out so hard he could barely say Jimin looks good.

That was a lie. Jimin looks amazing. Jimin looks breathtaking. Jimin looks hot.

Yoongi regrets everything.

Jimin’s makeup, silver shadows complimenting his hair, reminded Yoongi of a starry night in paradise, but it wasn’t what made his mouth go dry.

There are stockings. Legit fishnet stockings under the black shorts, coupled with military-style leather boots that he could, presented the possibility, beat anyone’s ass with. It wasn’t all. He seemed to have gone for the whole goth aesthetic, his crop-top decorated with spikes and rings, the flowered jacket Yoongi gave him completing the picture.

Yoongi honestly wishes to die.

Jimin is gripping his waist now as they move through the city. He smirked when he saw Yoongi’s reaction and concluded that it’s a perfect dumping attire. He still looked uneasy but Yoongi trusted his judgement. If Jimin says he’s okay to party, they’re going to party. Or well. Jimin is, Yoongi is going to stand in the shadows and watch over him.

“Don’t drink anything not given to you by my people,” Yoongi warns him when they pull up by the Street. Jimin will have to go around the front to meet Tony, and then “meet” Taehyung, but for now they’re here, where Yoongi can talk to him freely.

Jimin rolls his eyes as he hands his helmet back to Yoongi. His face is covered in barely-noticeable glitter, and Yoongi suddenly wants to know how it tastes. Yeah, that.

“Fine,” Jimin agrees. “You can just go with me, by the way. You know way more about this club than I do. It’s my first time.”

Yoongi feels his jaw tighten against his wishes as he looks in Jimin’s eyes. The thing is that it’s not the first time, and he wishes he could talk with him about it.

Not yet.

“I need to be on lookout.” Yoongi shakes his head. “But hey, if anything happens, if you feel wrong, if something…”

Jimin stops his rumbling with his hand on Yoongi’s arm. Yoongi lets out a breath and wills his paranoia away.

“I’ll come find you,” Jimin finishes his thought with a smile.

Yoongi nods curtly, getting back on the bike to put it in garage.

“You do that,” he mumbles, taking one last look at him. Gods. “You look gorgeous. Have fun.”

He drives away before seeing Jimin’s reaction, already embarrassed by the compliment.

Jimin waits until Yoongi is around the corner to take a deep breath and start walking in the opposite direction toward the club. The streetlights are already on even though it’s just eight in the evening.

People are already gathering around the entrance, the line full of excited faces, buzzing with anticipation. The Underworld always throws the best parties, even when it’s just a simple night. They say that the shows they put when there’s an occasion are unbelievable, and Jimin would know if only he could remember the Halloween.

He fixes his hair as he stops a little to the side of the line. He’ll be able to get in without waiting but he still needs to meet Tony. What will he say? He’s never had troubles dumping people, but those were flings he had in anticipation of something bigger, and for a long time he thought that Tony is exactly that — something more permanent, not a fleeting presence in Jimin’s life. It seems now that he was wrong, and he is lost at what to do because he never imagined he’d have to break up with someone who held so much meaning to him, at least at some point in his life.

He feels a hand on his shoulder and turns around, jerking away.

Tony looks a mess but like he tried to do something to cover that up. His clothes and hair seem fine, but his face looks ashen, his eyes red. It looks like he’s severely sleep-deprived. Jimin makes himself smile.

“Hey.”

“You’re okay,” Tony blurts out, surprised for some reason. Jimin blinks and frowns.

“Why shouldn’t I be?” Something is at the back of his mind, the growl he’s come to think of as familiar. He wonders if it always was Yoongi’s voice, or it changed to resemble it when Jimin accepted the man into his life.

Tony swallows and looks away, rubbing his neck, but he composes himself quickly, taking a deep breath and smiling.

“You looked sick last time we saw each other,” he explains, shrugging, and Jimin can’t help but agree. He had just gotten out some rotting shit out of his system. No wonder he looked like hell. He definitely felt like it.

“Allergies,” he repeats his excuse.

Tony nods slightly, something unreadable on his face reminding Jimin of relief. It feels awkward. It used to never feel awkward with Tony.

He briefly wonders at how fast things can change. How quickly you can go from love to indifference, from hate to affection. He thinks about the way Yoongi looked at him when he saw his outfit. It felt nice.

Better to rip off the bandaid right now. That way, the wound will hopefully heal faster. He feels something sour in his mouth.

“Tony, we need to talk about us,” he breathes out, taking strength from the fact that he won’t be alone after this. He has people who will help him recover. He hopes Tony has them too. “It’s been long overdue, to be honest.”

“Can we dance first?” Tony interrupts, and Jimin feels irritation bloom inside of him. He’d rather not. “You’re right, we need to sort a lot of shit up, and I have a guess about how this will end, but I would just… I would just have this one dance.”

Jimin sighs quietly, pursing his lips. Tony isn’t stupid, and he always seemed to get Jimin’s thoughts, so his guess is probably correct.

He thinks about the times they’ve had together. They had fun, and Jimin will always stay grateful for the support Tony provided him with, and once again — it’s not his fault Jimin’s feelings changed.

But then another thought comes — Halloween. Tony was in that picture, and he was there, and he knew Jimin before they met in December, and something happened between those two events that he doesn’t want Jimin to know about. He feels his mind racing, the possibilities flashing by, and he thinks — _I can use him._

It’s a vile thought, the one that makes him feel like there’s acid on his tongue, but it feels somehow appropriate — to use Tony’s feelings for him to find out what happened. He can’t believe the thought hasn’t crossed his mind before. He can’t talk to Taehyung about it until he is sure he has the proof, and Tony is the perfect choice for this. Jimin feels he knows more than he lets on, and it’s only fair for Jimin to let him stick around for this last favor. It started with one, after all.

Besides, it’s just one dance. One night. He can accomplish his goal if he’s careful, and so he makes a decision.

“Alright,” he breathes out. “We’ll talk after the party.”

Tony’s face lights up, and Jimin immediately feels like shit. He should’ve stuck with his original plan, but it’s too late to turn back now. He smiles slightly and looks around, just in time to spot Taehyung approaching them.

Tae completely ignores Tony and hooks his pinky over Jimin’s.

“You look amazing, darling,” he comments, and Jimin feels a genuine smile spread over his face.

“I had a good teacher,” he purrs, looking over Taehyung.

If Jimin went for the depressed goth aesthetic inspired by Yoongi’s outfits (he refused to think about _that_ when dressing up), then Taehyung looks like he stepped out of the latest fashion magazine’s cover, his silver shirt hanging off his shoulders, dark skinnies with flower pattern highlighting his thighs, the rings on his fingers reminding Jimin of the spring flowers. His engagement ring fits into the whole outfit like it was its beginning, and it looks amazing against Taehyung’s silver hair when he puts his hand through it. The earring Yoongi brought to him a few weeks ago is a perfect addition, and Jimin is really proud to be friends with the boy able to look stunning in everything he puts on.

“Shall we?” Taehyung proposes, gesturing to the entrance.

They walk inside the club without any delays, the bouncers taking one look at Taehyung and opening the doors without hesitation. Jimin wonders if they were briefed about who exactly he is, and why there shouldn’t be a single closed door before him.

It’s loud but familiar, and Jimin feels his old habits kicking in. He always loved parties, never missed one if he could attend.

That was the first strange thing about the fact that he didn’t remember coming here on Halloween. There is a hazy yet stable memory he has about being home all throughout the day, and that’s why he knows it’s bullshit. Park Jimin would never miss a chance to have fun.

He falls into a pattern quick enough — his body moves itself as if of its own will, the music beat controlling his muscles as they make their way through the crowd. Tony gestures to the bar but Jimin shakes his head, hesitant. He hears Yoongi’s approving hum in his head and almost wants to go drink something just to spite it. He doesn’t. The fear from almost getting poisoned and what came after is still fresh in his blood. He might be desperately repressing it but it’s still there, always with him.

They lose Taehyung fast enough but Jimin isn’t worried. Probably every member of staff in here is watching him, so there’s no need to be afraid for him.

It takes him about twenty minutes of trying to relax to admit that this time, even music isn’t helping, and he knows why — Tony is near him, touching his hands and body, and Jimin doesn’t want it, he wants him gone. He’s unwelcome around him, but Jimin has to stay silent if he wants to get what he needs.

He suddenly wishes it was Yoongi. Dancing with him, smiling at him through the dark, laughing with him about something, holding his waist, and telling him he looks amazing.

Jimin closes his eyes and allows himself to finally let the fantasy take over him.

His little shameful secret — the things he feels when Yoongi is holding him. The peace his mind feels, the calm that settles over him, the simmering happiness filling up his veins. What is it?

What does he feel? Does he like Yoongi as a friend? Or is it time to stop fooling himself and finally admit that Yoongi is what he was waiting for?

He remembers their first talk, so long ago in the alley, when his mind was consumed by the fire of hate toward the man telling him they were meant to meet.

_”That’s just a coincidence.”_

_  
_

_“I thought so, too. But then you appeared. And it all started making sense.”_

But did it for Jimin? He still can’t make out half the shit going through his mind, but something inside of him screams at him to get away from Tony. It’s not it anymore. It’s not making him calmer anymore, only more agitated and unsettled.

One dance. One party. One talk.

And then it will all be over, and he will finally allow himself to look at Yoongi and accept the feelings that come with it. Sounds like a plan.

Tony’s hands are still on his waist. He keeps dancing.

IX

Irene looks over her notes one last time. She has them memorized to the point she can tell where exactly on the pages Wendy spilled coffee. She swallows and looks at the map.

It’s finally today. The plans have all come down to this one day, and if everything goes according to plan, they will finally have the advantage over the Underworld. Its downfall will be inevitable, and the Olympus will follow. It has been too long of their reign, their black fingers in every corner of this city, so devoid of hope and light and memory of better times that they do not even suspect how much they need someone to save them. And the _Red Velvet_ will be their hero.

Yeri and Joy are already in position, commanding the boys. Wendy is waiting for her in the car. She locks the office and comes down the back exit, not wishing to face Kim and his constant questions. The man isn’t happy that someone is operating inside his own precinct without letting him know what they’re doing, and she smirks, thinking about how much he really doesn’t know.

It’s a pity. His son is a good kid that got tangled in the wrong net. She kinda wishes to be there when Kim realizes who exactly Hades is bedding, because that is guaranteed to be a splendid shitshow.

Seulgi isn’t participating tonight. Her cover is way too important to be blown, and she’s annoyed to no end by her inability to be in the middle of the action she started, but she’s way too smart to risk it all for one evening. She’ll have her moments, Irene is sure of it.

She’s thinking about Orpheus as they make their way uptown. Wendy is silent, probably going over the plan for the hundredth time, but Irene can’t make herself do it anymore. She hates obsessing over her plans minutes before they start. They won’t be able to change anything at this point. They either win or lose.

He looked disappointed when he came to their office two days ago. Irene doesn’t know the full extent of it but she knows he wanted to see someone else. She wonders if his boyfriend knows. She smirks.

The city is flying past them, the lights shining over its residents moving around, running and walking, laughing and crying, breathing in the poisoned vapors of their own waste, reveling in the joy of existing in the middle of this overly-organized hell. That’s why she hates this city. It’s cursed, haunted, damned, yet they never feel it — they exist with the knowledge but never choose to do anything about it. They stay idle. They allow the criminal scum run the show.

And she is about to change it.

IX

The music suddenly dials down, and Jimin looks around but nobody apart from him seems to have heard it. It’s suddenly hard to breathe.

Pictures start appearing in front of him, some figures and shapes he can’t distinguish, and even though he tries to write it off as the lights in the club, some part of him knows — it’s in his head. He looks closer but all he sees is colors — red, gold, and pink. He tries to take a breath but it’s so stuffy and hard that he just chokes, clutching his top.

The hands on his body are suddenly not just unwelcome but hurting — he wants to tear them away and rip them apart but all he manages to do is grab them with weak fingers. Tony lets him go and turns him around to look at his face. He sees that something is wrong instantly and tries to ask Jimin what’s going on with him but the music was too loud even before a fog appeared in Jimin’s ears. He sees Tony mouthing “What?” and only then realizes that he’s saying something.

Tony grabs his shoulder, and the touch seems to burn — Jimin screams out and steps away but there are bodies all around them, people, and it’s too much, there’s too many, and he keeps calling something out yet doesn’t hear it.

Something possess him to turn around and start walking, and he doesn’t understand why because he’s positive that the exit is other way yet he keeps walking, trying to avoid sweated flesh all around yet they push him and try to grab, and their touches _burn burn burn_. Suddenly, he sees an exit and realizes that he was walking the right way, and he sprints outside, trying, needing to hear the words falling from his lips.

He can sense Tony behind him when he finally gets to the street and gulps cold air but all he can think about is that his hearing still isn’t back — all he feels is fog and all he sees are soft golden-red lights.

Finally, piece by piece, the world seems to come back to him, and he hears Tony behind him breathing loudly. The words Jimin’s been saying are a soft whisper now.

Something is about to happen. He feels it in his limbs and veins, and he finally realizes what he’s been saying.

“Danger.”

“What?” Tony is frantic, trying to grab his elbow but it feels wrong, and Jimin jerks away so hard that he crushes into someone with his back.

He doesn’t even think about apologizing — the hands gently take his arms and turn him around, and it feels right. Jimin doesn’t even look at his face — he crashes into him on purpose this time, breathing in his scent and trying to find peace.

“What’s wrong?” Yoongi asks quietly and with purpose.

“Where’s Taehyung?” Jimin croaks out, leaning back and looking into Yoongi’s face. It’s tired and mad but there’s a soft look in his eyes.

“Somewhere inside the office, why?”

Jimin can’t think — he feels panic shoot through him, and he looks around wildly, trying to see where it’s coming from.

“Yoongi...” He whispers, tears clouding his vision, and he hates it, he hates when this happens, and he needs to stay alert.

“I’m here, sunshine, talk to me,” Yoongi whispers urgently, and some part of Jimin reminds him that his boyfriend is here, but he doesn’t care, he can’t care. Nothing but Yoongi and the dread inside matters.

He feels hands on his face and stops turning it around wildly, focusing his vision on a little scar on Yoongi’s nose. He blinks.

“Someone’s coming,” he sobs. “They want to destroy everything.”

Yoongi’s face darkens, and Jimin sees the change coming over it — the worry disappears, and he gathers himself, gripping Jimin harder and moving him towards the alley.

It’s all a blur — walking there, trying to breathe, the sounds of the club engulfing him once again when they enter the back exit which connects to the bar room, the look of the charred door to Jungkook’s office, the bullet holes on which he noticed it seems like ages ago.

He faintly hears Yoongi barking commands into the phone, telling someone to close down the club and escort everyone out as soon as possible. When they enter Hades’ office, he’s already on the phone with someone else, telling them to get everyone back from their positions and on the Street.

He blinks the tears away and feels Yoongi’s hands fall away from him just to be replaced with someone else’s. He looks up and sees the familiar eyes, another dry sob coming over him as he buries himself in Taehyung’s embrace. He hears Jungkook and Yoongi talk loud in the background, but his thoughts are a mess.

“Baby, what’s wrong? Where’s Tony?”

Only now does he realize that he has no idea. His mind threw him out the second that Yoongi appeared in his line vision.

He takes a deep breath, and then another one. He’s cold. He looks up and swallows.

“Someone is going to attack us.” He licks his lips, the panic slowly fading away, giving place to determination. “I don’t know why I know, but I do.”

Taehyung frowns then, looking up at his fiancé. Jimin looks that way, feeling even calmer as he lays eyes on Yoongi.

“People are already being escorted out,” Yoongi reports. He feels Jimin’s gaze on him and looks his way. “We need to get them to safety.”

Jungkook looks... Not as doubtful as hesitant. He looks long and hard at Jimin, and Jimin doesn’t look away. He needs him to believe it. It’s something far greater than Jimin’s nightmares, this is something he feels in the core of his entire being, the sparks shooting through his mind, signaling the danger they’re all facing.

“Alright,” Jungkook finally says. He pulls out his phone and texts someone. Jimin presses closer to Taehyung, listening to the sounds of people outside leaving the street.

Not a minute later, Taeyong and Ten appear, but Yoongi doesn’t even get to say anything.

In a moment that it takes for Jimin to feel it before it happens and look at Yoongi with a warning on his lips, the whole first floor shakes with explosion, the deafening sound making Jimin fall to the ground and throws his hands over his ringing ears. He hears glass break somewhere far away, and screams getting louder, but then it’s all suddenly quiet, only the remaining white noise reminding them that someone just blew something up.

He looks up, realizing there’s a hand on his shoulder, and he searches for Yoongi’s eyes. He doesn’t know what fear Yoongi can see in him, but Jimin sees death in his.

Yoongi helps him get up but doesn’t hold onto him for too long. He takes out his phone and calls someone.

“What was that?” Taehyung croaks, clinging to Jungkook. Taeyong comes to the window, trying to see if all the people left safely. They don’t seem to be too shaken up about something literally exploding, and Jimin thinks he’ll never be able to fully understand these people.

“The garage,” Yoongi says after hanging up.

Taeyong’s head snaps Yoongi’s way, and Jimin sees the blood leave his face.

“Did someone..?”

“Yes. Someone broke into the Underworld.” Jungkook wipes at his lips, and Jimin steps away on instinct, afraid of the feeling he emanates. “Or at least they tried to.”

It doesn’t seem possible. How? This place is protected beyond imaginable, and yet the proof of it happening is right there — in the faces of its owners, their movement curt and precise as they give calls and orders.

“Fuck!”

Jimin snaps his head to look at Yoongi. He’s never seen him this livid, and he suddenly realizes that he’s feeling him on every level, his nervous system wired into Yoongi’s mind, and he feels rage so great that some part of him wants to cower in fear, yet he listens to another — the one telling him to come closer and put his hand on Yoongi’s fingers.

“What’s wrong?” He asks calmly, feeling like he finally has a grip on himself. Yoongi meets his eyes, the fire consuming his gaze.

“The garage is locked out,” Yoongi reports quietly but strongly. “We can’t get to the weapons in the armory.”

Jimin processes that, trying to understand what it means in the situation when they’re under attack.

“We’re going to have to fight back with what we have on hand, then,” Ten answers, loading his gun. Taeyong frowns, looking at him, but stays silent.

“Taehyung, Jimin, you need to hide,” Jungkook says, already leading Tae to the concealed door behind his cabinet.

“I’ll go with them,” Yoongi cuts out, checking his gun’s magazine as he walks.

“No, Yoongi, we need you here,” Taeyong steps forward, his palm white around his own weapon.

Yoongi doesn’t even spare him a glance, already opening the door. He turns to Ten.

“The guys are already on the way here. You’re in charge,” he informs him. He’s calm, Jimin realizes. The anger has subsided, leaving place for the deadly peace in Yoongi’s soul. He looks at Taeyong. “I’m a fucking Ares, Taeyong. Do you think that armory is the only place in this entire building I store weapons?”

Taeyong purses his lips and nods, coming over to Jungkook’s side. They all look at each other, exchanging a fleeting but charged silence, and then — disperse.

“I’ll be back with more guns,” he promises, and Jimin doesn’t even get to look back — Yoongi leads them down an unfamiliar corridor that connects to a small room with elevator doors.

They come inside, and Yoongi presses the eleventh floor. He doesn’t look at them as they ride, so Jimin clings to Taehyung’s hand, feeling too much shit at the same time. Even Yoongi’s back is charged with strength, the Ares energy radiating off of him.

Taehyung looks calm but Jimin feels worry in his movements and the way he keeps biting his nails. He presses his forehead to Taehyung’s shoulder and opens his mouth to say something to cut through the tension.

He doesn’t get to — all the lights go out, and the elevator jerks to a stop, weak backup lighting coming on after a few moments.

“Someone cut the power,” Yoongi murmurs. “Fucking shit.”

He tries to open the doors but they’re locked, too, the safety precaution Jimin remembers him talking about. Yoongi rubs his face and looks up.

“Alright, we were around the ninth floor,” he muses, putting his foot on the handrail and lifting himself up to reach the ceiling. Jimin watches him hit the hatch a few times with his gun until it flies open, the darkness of the elevator shaft staring right into Jimin’s soul. He swallows.

Yoongi jumps down and looks them over, deciding what’s the best course of action. Jimin knows he doesn’t want to leave them alone but his duty is to be with his brothers, and Jimin simply can’t let him stay here while his family is in danger.

“Go,” he says firmly, putting his hand on Yoongi’s shoulder. Yoongi looks at him like it’s the hardest thing he’s ever had to do, but Jimin simply smiles at him through the dread he feels. “We’re going to stay here and wait for you to come back, I promise.”

Taehyung nods, his hands wrapped around himself.

“We’ll be fine, Yoon-Yoon,” he croaks out. “You need to be there.”

Yoongi looks at two of them again, the fight clear on his face. Finally, he nods shortly and looks up, ready to get out.

But then, he looks at Jimin again, the fire in his eyes now taking the form of a warm flame, and before he knows it, Jimin is engulfed into a tight hug. He hugs back, wrapping his hands around Yoongi’s neck, feeling his palms tighten on Jimin’s waist. He closes his eyes and breathes in deeply, taking his strength from Yoongi’s smell.

“Be brave, Ares,” he whispers. “I’ll wait for you.”

He hears Yoongi inhale sharply and let go, immediately going up and disappearing in the darkness. He looks inside one last time, his gaze focused on both of them. Two people he vowed to protect.

“Don’t open it unless it’s someone you know personally,” he instructs, and then — he’s gone, the hatch shutting close.

Jimin takes a deep breath and sits down, Taehyung joining him and holding his hand. Jimin puts his head on Taehyung’s shoulder and tries to guess what’s happening outside of their little cell. They can’t hear anything in here, the air around them eerily quiet, but somehow he feels that the first floor is in the middle of a fight. He closes his eyes.

Yoongi will come back. He promised to wait for him, and he will — no matter how long it takes.

IX

Yoongi’s steps are silent as he runs down the stairs, an arsenal in his hands that would be enough to supply this entire hotel. He just needs to provide weapons to half a dozen, though. Everybody on the territory is armed at all times, but he doesn’t know the extent of the attack yet, and so it’s better to be safe than sorry.

His mind is eerily calm as he makes his way to the street where Ten was supposed to gather the team. The guards are already all over the club and trying to get into the garage, but Yoongi only trusts his own crew to investigate and eliminate the problem. It’s been quiet ever since the explosion went off but he refuses to believe it was something isolated. The bigger shit is coming.

Just as this thought crosses his mind, there’s a sound of broken glass, and he ducks down. He’s almost outside, and the end of the service staircase, and someone just fucking took a shot at him. He can see the bullet hole on the opposite wall. Who the fuck takes such a risky shot? Was it just a distraction?

He curses and sprints outside, finally feeling fresh air on his skin and spotting Ten and the others. Johnny rushes to him to relieve the weight, and he orders to pass the spare weapons around. He takes the syringes for Jinho out of his pocket and hands them to the guy.

“Alright, people,” he starts loudly. He needs their attention. They look at him seriously, and Yoongi thanks himself for the training he puts these kids through. It pays off in the moments like this. “Ten, take Johnny and go around the building, I need you to eliminate whoever is near the garage. Be careful, we don’t know if there’s going to be another explosion. If you have a choice — take prisoners, I’ll need to do some questioning. If you don’t have a choice — shoot on sight.”

The two nod and take off into the night, their movements silent. Yoongi looks at the trio of new kids, gritting his teeth.

They’ve been with them for barely a few months. First, they were just the kids who worked at the club, but eventually they annoyed Yoongi into letting them train to become a part of his crew. Hendery, Xiaojun, and Yangyang — oppositely different boys, but all the same in their desire to serve the Underworld. Yoongi takes a deep breath.

“You all have your vests on?” He inquires and waits for all three of them to nod, the determination on their faces. Fuck, they’re not ready for a fight like this. He doesn’t have a choice. All of his other people are on the other end of the city. He regrets sending Mark to the Blackpink minutes before the attack. “Stay close to me, anyway. Devils, I need you to go to the real hotel and circle back here but from the opposite direction to that building there.” He motions to the office building he was shot at from. “There’s at least one shooter. Your orders are the same. If you can — take them alive, if you can’t — take them out.”

They nod and leave, and Yoongi watches as they keep close to the building before disappearing around the corner. The Underworld Hotel is only semantically such, its doors closed to anyone outside the gang for years now. There is, however, an actual hotel in their possession a few blocks from here, its lights barely visible from here.

“Alright, kids, let’s move,” he orders and moves to leave the Street. “Remember your orders.”

It takes them barely a minute to go around the building to the club, the entrance black and dark with its creepy emptiness, all the people having been escorted out. He hears movement inside but recognizes the voices as the club bouncers. Ten gave them the orders to search every corner, and Yoongi nods to himself as he leads the trio to the abandoned building across the road.

He thinks about the logic of it all as they move.

Why is it so quiet? He would expect a swarm of people coming at him, explosion having provided the perfect distraction. Did they want to draw them out of the Hotel? It’s pointless. Even if Yoongi didn’t order a few dozen people to stay inside, nobody would be able to get in. They could try and disable the protections when cutting the power out, but there’s backup generations. Fuck, even if they turned _that_ off, there’s still magic in the ground, Jungwoo’s spell never wearing off. It even tried to drive Jimin, the one actually invited, out, and Yoongi has seen the people who tried to get inside without permission. It makes their minds a mess, destroying it piece by piece. Is it possible that the attackers didn’t know about it? Is he supposed to be looking for passed out bodies that weren’t able to handle the spells? He hopes Ten and Johnny can get inside the garage before whoever blew it up dies from the insanity. How did Jungwoo put it? He made it so that _the thoughts of all the dead people killed by someone from this hotel would haunt the uninvited guests_? Yeah, that’s not pretty, considering that Yoongi alone has an impressive track record.

They reach the building and he motions for the kids to spread out around the block and be alert. He will go inside alone. He hates that they have to do it without their training properly finished, but he can’t let the attacker get away. That is, if someone is even here. It doesn’t make any sense that someone would be holed up here, considering that nothing is happening, but he has a feeling that—

The sounds of the breaking glass is deafening, and he turns around to see dozens of windows on the fourth floor of the Hotel shatter. They’re fucking bulletproof, it had to take some really hellish bullets to do that. The shots continue, coming from somewhere upstairs, and he sprints there, looking for the mad fucker who decided to start a shooting at his home.

By the time he climbs his way through debri and to the fourth floor, it’s quiet. They stopped shooting when he started approaching. He looks around. There’s no cameras.

There’s only one room on the floor, and he carefully enters it, his gun at the ready. There’s nobody in sight but he spots a bucket of bullets by the window next to an impressive rifle. There’s no other exit, he realizes as time slows down around him, Ares instincts making him take his time while he’s still covered by the door.

He knows there’s someone on the other side. Probably hid waiting for him.

Yoongi puts his gun to the door and takes a shot, wood splinters flying everywhere as there’s a scream. It’s high and angry, and Yoongi barely has enough time to regroup as a woman throws the door open, her gun pointed at his forehead. He freezes, only her loud breathing audible in the room.

She’s bleeding from the side, he thinks with satisfaction. He looks her over, memorizing her features. The gun at his face doesn’t bother him, because, no matter how banal that sounds, he knows that it will take more to kill him than this dusty room and a wounded girl. He still doesn’t lower his own gun. She’s clad in black camouflage but he feels that she’s a cop. Is she one of Kim’s? Why the fuck would he attack so suddenly after years of trying to break them down with arrests and laws?

”The fuck is wrong with that hotel?” She hisses, her voice high-pitched because of her wound.

Yoongi raises his eyebrows, quickly connecting the dots and barely containing his smirk. So they didn’t know about the spell. Amazing. He can play, then.

“Beautiful place, actually,” he purrs, deciding to tire her out.

The blood gushing from her wound won’t last forever, no matter how hard she’s pressing her free hand to it. She’s going to go weak eventually. He turns away from her, coming to the window. He isn’t afraid she’ll take the shot. She needs something more than his dead body. The Hotel is staring back at him, the windows black and empty. It’s all a ruse. He looks toward the ninth floor. _Just wait for me._

“You should see the view from the roof,” he says calmly, looking down and cataloging the weapons she has. Impressive. But nothing from their own vaults. However she got these guns — it was a legal way. Curious. “You can see the entire city. We like to do that, you know? Look at it and realize that it all belongs to us.”

“It doesn’t!” She screeches, shuffling closer. Yoongi almost feels sorry for her. That must hurt like a bitch. “You’re just rats trying to own something that isn’t yours. Something that isn’t anyone’s.”

He snorts, turning to look at her. She’s getting paler by the second.

“You don’t see it, do you?” He tilts his head and pouts his lips in mockery. “We’ve always been here. We’ll always be here. We’re what’s supposed to exist. Even if you succeeded in taking the Hotel, it wouldn’t change anything.” Her hand is trembling from the force she’s gripping the gun with. Yoongi sees her eyelids droop, but she’s fighting it. “When we’re gone — someone else will come.”

She opens her mouth to say something but she’s too weak. Yoongi smiles. He hopes she survives before he can get her to the basement and talk about the reasons she’s here. She won’t be complaint, oh no, not at first. But he always wanted to try his hand at water torture.

“Then we’ll destroy them, too.”

He feels surprise in him at the new voice but he only has time to look to the door where another woman is standing, her forehead bleeding. He doesn’t have time to raise his gun.

The shot is instant and quiet. She’s using a silencer, Yoongi thinks absently as the force of the bullet pushes him back, his legs tripping over the windowsill.

The last thing he thinks about before his body hits the ground is Jimin.

_I broke my promise, sunshine._

IX

Jimin feels Taehyung’s grip tighten on his trembling fingers.

“He’ll be fine,” Tae whispers.

Jimin lets out a deep breath and closes his eyes briefly. The dread is back in his bloodstream, spreading to his limbs and making them numb.

“I can’t help it,” he confesses, swallowing. “I mean, aren’t you worried about Kook?”

Taehyung breathes in through his nose and shrugs.

“I am,” he says calmly. He’s way too calm for the situation, and Jimin remembers wondering at him watching cartoons while Ten was bleeding out on the carpet. He isn’t heartless. He just has an immense amount of trust in the Underworlders. Jimin wishes he could relate. “But I just… As far as I know, Hobi is already here. Jungkook said that he pressed an alarm for the other bosses around the city. Poseidon and his guys, probably Olympus and their power, a few other crews… They’d be fine even without them, considering Yoongi is leading the defense.”

Jimin swallows, gripping his necklace. He feels cold but not because of his light clothes. Yoongi left barely three minutes ago but Jimin already craves for him to be back. He just needs to see his stupid brooding face and make sure he’s okay.

He’s suddenly so fucking important.

Well. Maybe, not so suddenly.

_I’m just so fucking scared for you._

It’s mutual, you dumbass. Jimin knows Yoongi is the best fighter in the city, and he knows he has as much brain as he has brawn, and he knows it will take something really grand to eliminate him, he _knows_ all of that. He still feels jittery.

He looks down on his hand, Taehyung holding it firmly, the engagement ring bright among the accessories.

Taehyung loves one of them. It’s not that scary or out-of-the-world. It’s simple for him.

“Why did you say yes?” He blurts out, surprising himself. It’s not the time nor place but he’s been thinking about it all week, and he can’t drag it out any longer. Taehyung has to know.

“I love him,” Tae says simply, as if it’s the clearest thing in the world, and maybe for him it is, but Jimin is lost every time he tries to wrap his head around it. He knows it’s the truth. Knew it even before Tae himself did.

He always feels when people love. He always knows what they’re feeling but the love is the strongest one, and he can’t count the times he’s witnessed its power in others. Never in himself, not this way. He loved his mother, still loves her memory, and he loves his dad, no matter the pain he’s brought him, and he loves Taehyung like a brother, but it all seems… Not the one he’s looking for. Not the one he understands. He thought he was in love with Tony, but it’s clear as day to him now that it wasn’t anywhere near close the intensity of Taehyung’s feelings toward Jungkook, or the subtle power Ten has in his eyes when he looks at Taeyong, and not the goofy breathlessness he witnessed that one time Johnny was talking to Mark while guarding them. They all seem to have different versions of it, but the core is still the same. And Jimin simply does not get it.

Yoongi called him Aphrodite. But how is he supposed to even resemble the god of love if the feeling itself is unfamiliar to him? When is he supposed to learn its secrets? Why does it feel like he’s grasping it with his fingertips yet it keeps slipping away?

“He makes me feel safe,” Taehyung says quietly. He’s not smiling, his features calm, but there’s warm strength to his voice. He is so sure of his feelings. “He makes me feel like I’ve found what I didn’t know I’ve been looking for. And you know, not a lot of people know the real him, Chim. He’s a good leader, an amazing one, even. But he rarely lets people see that he is a good person, too. And he is, I swear.” Jimin turns to look at him, and they lock gazes. “I don’t need to tell him when I’m feeling down because he always gets it himself. And even if he doesn’t know the reason, he waits for me to tell him. I’ve never felt more understood than I’m with him.”

Jimin feels a pang in his chest. He’s not jealous or bitter. He just feels like he’s failed his Tae-Tae.

“And please, baby, don’t think you aren’t enough for me,” Taehyung says, as if reading his thoughts. Like he always does. “It was just different. You’re my platonic soulmate, and that will never change. I am not replacing you. I just… I just have so much love inside of me, you know? It felt right to give him the part of it I had left. And he’s taking great care of it.”

Jimin closes his eyes, taking a deep breath. Here goes.

“I spent so many years worrying about you,” he starts, memories flashing before his eyes. Their first meeting, their first hug, their first real talk about what’s happening at home. The first time Taehyung came to him in the middle of the night and cried his eyes out. “What you eat, when you rest, how you feel. It took me some time to realize that I’m not…” He breaks off, feeling _so fucking sad_. He’s not regretful. It’s just hard to accept the things that are right there for him to see if he just weren’t this selfish. “You’re not only mine to take care of. You’ve found someone who gets you so well he doesn’t need years to learn what’s good for you. He gets you. And I think it was hard for me to accept the fact that I’m not the most important in your life anymore.” He looks up, pleading for forgiveness with his eyes, but here’s the thing — Taehyung has forgiven him long before Jimin even knew he’s fucking up. “I know it’s selfish, and I’m a dumbass for even allowing myself that thought, but I just...” He refuses to cry. Instead, he presses his face into Taehyung’s shoulder, breathing in to stabilize himself. Taehyung smells familiar. He feels right. That will never change.

Taehyung gives him time. He always knows what Jimin is feeling and what amount of space he needs. _He just always knows._

“The point is — I’m sorry.” He looks up jerkily, pressing his lips firmly together. This is it. This is the real truth. “I only want what’s best for you, and it took me awhile to realize that Kook _is_ the best for you. And I am truly happy for you, Tae-Tae.”

Because he is. Now, when he admitted to himself what’s been eating at him — the selfishness and possessiveness — it’s easy to say what he’s feeling.

“Ah, you’re gonna make me tear up and ruin my makeup,” Taehyung murmurs but he leaves a kiss on Jimin’s temple. “Baby.”

Jimin giggles, feeling all the love emanating from Taehyung.

Suddenly, he feels a shock go through his entire body, the fear so great hitting his mind that he gasps, jerking forward. He feels Taehyung’s hand on his back, his scared voice asking what’s wrong. Jimin feels like his ribs are broken and cutting into his lungs, and he feels as if he’s going to pass out. He feels a great tremble going over him, so strong that the entire cabin shakes, the metal screeching.

And just like that — it’s gone. He blinks a few times, gripping his chest, but there’s nothing. His heart is beating wildly from the adrenaline but he’s not in pain anymore, and he gasps for air again, trying to understand what the hell that was.

“I just felt something…” He tries to explain. “I don’t know what it was.”

He leans back on the wall, his gaze lost as if he’s trying to see something in the empty space. There is nothing but them.

“Was it like someone shot an arrow through you?” Taehyung asks thoughtfully, and Jimin turns to him, his brow furrowed.

“Yeah, actually. Exactly like that,” he croaks out, licking his lips. Taehyung’s face is grim.

“That’s what I felt when you were in that… trance,” he explains, looking over Jimin’s face as if making sure that he’s truly okay. Jimin blinks, remembering how Tae burst into the room half-asleep with Kook on his heels telling that Taehyung felt something in his sleep.

“You said it felt like I was dying,” he murmurs, his mind reeling. “How did you know?”

Tae shrugs with one shoulder and bites his thumbnail. He looks confused as he’s remembering, like he isn’t sure what happened himself.

“I was almost asleep,” he recounts softly. “And I saw you standing in the dark. There was someone beside you, like… Lights. They were protecting you, and I remember feeling happy that you’re safe. But then some shadows started moving in, I saw them in the corner of my eye but I couldn’t move. Like sleep paralysis. I saw it but I couldn’t stop it. It was like a black fog with golden veins, you know?”

Jimin does. He really fucking does.

“And then I felt,” he puts his hand on his chest, right where Jimin just felt the punch, “this shock… I woke up and knew it was more than just a dream.”

Jimin swallows, breathing fast. The trance. The lights. The shadows.

“Taehyung,” he starts quietly, feeling his lips tremble. He has to do it. He can’t hold it in his soul anymore. He feels as if it’s eating him alive, poisoning him piece by piece like black mold.

“Yeah?” Tae’s voice is soft, his face open, and he can tell him anything. He can.

“I lied,” Jimin confesses, his throat dry. “About not remembering the trance. I do. I remember every detail of what I saw.”

Taehyung stares at him, his eyes wide, and there are words on the tip of his tongue, but Jimin doesn’t get to hear them.

The hatch gets thrown open, and they jerk into the corner, the darkness gaping from the ceiling. A second later, a familiar face appears. But it’s not Yoongi.

It’s Hoseok, his usually cheery face pale and grim. Jimin feels the already familiar dread intensify.

“Where is he?” He asks, his voice trembling. They stand up, and Jimin searches for a trace of something in Hobi’s face. “Where the fuck is Yoongi, Hobi?”

IX

“Yoongi isn’t picking up,” Johnny reports, locking his phone, and Ten curses, rubbing his face.

The electricity is back up, the windows showing people all around the hotel, and it seems the threat is gone now, but they still can’t go back inside.

There are four bodies nearby. Yoongi asked them to try and take prisoners, but that went out the window the second the attackers started shooting at everything they saw.

Johnny and Ten took them out in a few shots, but the garage is still locked, the debri from the explosion covering the exit. Ten walks around the wall, trying to remember where exactly is the armory beneath their feet.

It doesn’t take a lot of thought — he sees a giant hole in the ground, concrete thrown around, the charred stone blackening as he looks inside. So here’s where the explosion went out. He feels dread spread over him as they pull out their flashlights and shine inside.

The armory is one of the most protected places in this city. It contains all their ammunition. Or, well, it used to. It stands almost empty now. Ten feels like shooting someone again.

“Holy shit,” Johnny breathes out, and Ten couldn’t agree more. “How could they blow it up from the outside?”

“They didn’t,” Ten says grimly. “Here, hold this.”

He hands Johnny his flashlight and sits down, grabbing the rebar and lowering himself down. Gods, please let him not land on something sharp. He takes a deep breath and lets go, landing on concrete and breathing out in relief. Johnny lights his way, and he gets to the generator.

As soon as the lights are on, he feels frozen to the ground.

There is a giant black hole in the ground, the remains of the bomb scattered around. The walls used to be grey. Now, the metal is charred and black, its state mocking the empty space the walls enclose. There’s barely a few boxes left.

It’s not their main source of weaponry in the city, but it is the one that supplies the Hotel. There was enough to arm this entire fucking city, children and kittens included. He doesn’t even want to guess how Yoongi will react when he finds out.

Ten looks around, noticing how every camera is broken. Did that happen from the explosion or before? He calls for Johnny to come down, too, and moves for the door leading to the garage. He hopes the system still works.

Johnny whistles out loud when he realizes the magnitude of the robbery. Fuck, someone literally robbed them. The hell?

Ten dusts off the keypad and inputs his personal password. There is a general one, but the members of Yoongi’s crew have their unique codes. The system lights up, thankfully, and he puts his finger to the sensor to scan his print.

He hears the hissing sound of the door unlocking but it still doesn’t open, which it’s supposed to do automatically. He pushes at the handle and realizes that something heavy is blocking the path.

“Hey, give me a hand,” he calls for Johnny, and together, they force the door open. Ten hears a thud and feels the weight on the door disappear. They exchange a glance and cock their guns at the same time. Johnny holds the handle, ready to throw the door open, and Ten nods to him.

When he jumps out into the garage, his gun on the ready, there’s nothing. He frowns and looks around, not letting his guards down. It’s seemingly empty, only dozens of cars and bikes staring at him silently with their headlights. He steps forward, quietly, intent on checking under every fucking hood.

“Ten,” Johnny calls out, and Ten turns around, a question on his lips.

And then he sees it.

Her.

The weight that was holding the door closed was a girl, young from the looks of her. She’s dressed all in black, her face covered by the mask. Johnny pulls it down but neither of them recognize her.

Johnny checks her pulse and purses his lips. Alive. How?

“Do you think she passed out from the explosion?” Johnny wonders, pulling out the cable tie and fixing it around her wrists in case she wakes up or is faking.

“Something tells me she’s the one who set it,” Ten muses, coming closer and picking up a small remote control in the corner. He puts it in his pocket and looks her over. “Even if it wasn’t the explosion, it was Jungwoo’s spell.”

How is she even alive? And how did they get the weapons out? It’s not like they were packed up and ready to go. Besides, how the fuck did she make the bomb go off without damaging the insides of the armory? If it went off with them still in the room, the whole building would have crumbled.

The only possible explanation is that they got the weapons in the garage, blew the ceiling of the armory off, and then took everything out. When did they find the time? Why was she left behind? And those people who they killed — they didn’t have the Underworld’s weapons on them. Were they supposed to be a distraction while she’s getting away? Ten rubs his face and groans. How did she even get inside?

“Alright, let’s take her to the basement,” he commands, gesturing for the inner staircase leading further down. “Yoongi will know what to do.”

Johnny throws the girl over his shoulder and moves away while Ten throws one last look at the garage. What happened? And how?

He sighs, going after his friend. He dreads telling Yoongi what they found, but the faster everyone is informed, the faster they fix this. It’s like Yoongi always says — even if you step into a pile of shit, just wipe it off and walk further: at least you still have the shoes.

Yeah. Yoongi will know what to do.

IX

The door opens incredibly slowly, its movement muffled by the fog in his ears.

Jimin knows it’s only his mind that precepts the world in such a distorted way, moving as if he’s flying though antigravity, his body feeling weightless and put down by tons of metal at the same time. The others probably don’t feel it.

He doesn’t see the people standing here. He doesn’t notice the pristine white walls, generic lights never creating any shadow. He doesn’t smell the blood and rubbing alcohol, the mixture of them bringing with it the buried memories. He doesn’t hear Taehyung’s pleading voice, somewhere so close yet so far away. His legs move him closer, weak and heavy. Every step — infinity. Every breath — timeless. Every heartbeat — silent.

He only sees Yoongi.

His beautiful face, covered in blood and mud, his hair wet and dark. He’s pale. He’s so fucking pale. His eyelids are white against his face, the blue skin under them mocking Jimin.

He can’t see him breathe.

He can’t fucking see him breathe.

Just as this thought enters his mind, the time regains its rightful place, and he’s suddenly attacked with the onslaught of sounds and smells, them crashing into his skull like a thousand nails. They don’t matter. The pain doesn’t matter.

Someone is holding him. Why? He’s calm. He’s calm and cold, so cold. He looks down on the hands restricting him and realizes that his nails are scratching at them, leaving bloody marks. He looks up in fear and sees his face in the surgical mirror.

He’s crying. Crying and screaming, and finally the last sound tunes in — his own voice, screaming to let him go, let him get to Yoongi, let him feel his heart and breath, see that he’s _alive_.

“Does he have fucking powers?” Someone screams out, and Jimin is so confused, he’s so lost, he’s so scared.

Until he sees it — the instruments and trays rattling in the rhythm of his own pain, his soul controlling them with a clicking sound, scalpels flying onto the ground, and it only makes him more frightened.

The hands let him go, and he falls to the ground, feeling as if someone is burning out his heart, the intensity of the emotion so strong that it feels as if every cell in his body is dying and reviving anew. He looks up, desperate to see Yoongi, but instead, there’s a familiar kind face under the dark hair.

He’s confused, but before he can try and breathe, Ten holds him close and... Starts singing.

It has an instant effect, going through his body in waves. Jimin feels his panic fade away, his heart coming to a slow usual rhythm as Ten’s voice engulfs his senses, his breath on Jimin’s neck. He closes his eyes and presses closer, inhaling, ecstatic at the fact that he can. Ten is soothing, his voice soft and stable, his hands caring and gentle. Jimin can’t distinguish the words, the language foreign to his ears, but they bring peace to his fevered brain.

He hears Taeyong hiss, his instruments clinking. He tunes into that sound, knowing that Taeyong is the one that can save Yoongi.

Ten’s song comes to an end, the vowels chasing the rest of the fear away. He opens his eyes and sees Ten looking at him so softly it’s almost painful. Ten strokes his sweaty forehead, getting the hair out of the way. His smile is kind.

“You’re okay now?” He asks in a whisper, and Jimin nods shakily.

“The song...” He doesn’t know why he fixates on that, but it sounded as if it was created to soothe fear and pain. Ten smiles softly, sadness in his gaze.

“It’s an old Thai lullaby,” he murmurs, taking Jimin by the elbow and helping him up. “I used to sing it to the kids in... Nevermind.”

Taehyung is at his side instantly, his hands wrapping around Jimin’s waist. His legs are so weak, and he feels like he’s in a fever. He suddenly feels embarrassed.

“Jimin, do you have any powers?” It’s Hoseok, his gaze kind but determined. Jimin blinks. What?

“I’m— I’m really empathic? If that’s what you mean,” he murmurs, the mess of the thoughts making him stutter. “But a lot of people are like that.”

Hoseok breathes out through his nose but doesn’t press. The memory of what he felt just a few minutes ago is now foggy and unclear, as if it happened years ago. He blinks the tears away, surprised to even find them there.

Something stuck in his memory, though. He snaps his head up, searching for him, hoping that it was just an illusion, and feeling his heart freeze as he finds that it was not.

Taeyong feels his gaze and looks up from where he’s finishing up putting the bandage on Yoongi’s left hand. There’s another one around his torso, and what looks like dozens of stitches all over his body. Jimin presses his hand to his mouth but stays silent. Taeyong nods grimly.

“Now that everyone is here,” he starts, cutting off the surgical thread and pulling down his mask. “Yoongi was shot. He was wearing a vest, so the bullet only cracked two ribs, but he fell out of the fourth floor window, and you can imagine how smooth that landing was. Have no idea how he survived, but if I learned one thing, it’s that it’s really fucking hard to kick this idiot’s ass to the afterlife.”

He washes his hands as he talks, bloody water going down the drain. His shoulders look angry but Jimin knows that he’s just scared. Jimin can relate. He softly disentangles himself from Taehyung and walks closer on weak legs. He’s controlling himself now, and Taeyong doesn’t stop him, so he comes up to the bed and looks down. He wants to scream.

Not from pain, though.

From rage.

Who dared to do this? Who dared to try and take him away? He grits his teeth, touching Yoongi’s hand. It’s cold but he feels the pulse in his veins. And it’s good. As long as his heart is beating, it’s good.

“By the time the kids found him, whoever shot him was long gone,” Taeyong reports. “And so were the attackers we were fighting outside, and so were the assholes that blew us up, and so were the bitches who stole all our fucking weapons!” He throws a tray at the wall, the sound of metal hitting the stone deafening.

Jimin flinches, afraid to look at him. He’s never heard Taeyong as much as raise his voice, his demeanor always collected and kind. But not now. He’s screaming, his anger palpable in the air.

“Tae,” Jungkook steps forward, his face pale and grim. “We’ll find whoever did it. Johnny just got one of them into the basement.”

“Yeah, about that,” Taeyong breathes out with acid in his voice. He’s suddenly all movement, walking up to Johnny with such aggression that the guy steps back, raising his hands. “The fuck were you even doing there, eh?”

“Yoongi sent us,” comes a cold voice. Jimin is shocked to see that it’s Ten, talking to his boyfriend as he would to someone he’d very much like to punch. It’s surreal. Ten comes to stand between Johnny and Taeyong. “I was with Johnny the entire time. Whatever you want to accuse him of — say it to the both of us.”

It’s freezing silence, Ten and Taeyong staring each other down, the battle of wills, Taeyong breathing heavily with his teeth bared, Ten — the stoic frame of a statue. Jimin feels there’s something far greater there, something he doesn’t even suspect about. They keep looking at each other, their gazes locked, and Jimin sees something in the air — cracks, reddish purple sparks, like tiny bolts of lightning, and it feels like they’re about to explode.

Finally, Taeyong steps back and looks down, his jaw sharp. His white hair is splashed with red. Yoongi’s blood.

What was it? Jimin could never think that these two out of all people can look at each other with such rage. Is he the only one who saw the sparks? He blinks, wishing desperately for them to be okay. They had enough pain for today. He bites his lips, trying to call to something inside of him — to an instinct, the one who would tell him how to fix it.

_You can wish for it, flower._

Ten beats him to it. He sighs, closing his eyes briefly, all the fight leaving his body, his limbs going slack. He walks closer to Taeyong, bringing him close in one motion, burying his face in his shoulder, and holding him tight. Taeyong doesn’t resist — his body fits into Ten’s embrace seamlessly, and Jimin sees the sparks subside, the fire between them turning into soft candlelight once again.

“Fuck, I’m sorry,” Taeyong sobs. Ten kisses his temple, his fingers white from the strength of his hold. “Johnny, I’m sorry, I’m just...”

“It’s okay, Tae,” Johnny says softly. He’s still confused but there’s not a trace of anger in him as he steps closer and squeezes Taeyong’s shoulder. “It’s okay.”

“Guys, we need to talk about the course of action from now on,” Hoseok raises his voice, and everyone in the room collect themselves, looking at him.

“You’re aligning yourself with us?” Jungkook asks with a frown, and there’s a beat of silence before Hobi snorts.

“You’re kidding me? After this?” He gestures in the general direction, but Jimin sees his eyes stop on Yoongi’s form briefly. He gets it. He really does. “I wouldn’t abandon you now if you asked me.”

“I’m not a kid anymore, Hobi,” Jungkook says wistfully but Hoseok interrupts him.

“I know you’re not.” He sighs. “And I know it’s not one of Father’s insane simulations. This is serious shit, Jungkook, much more serious than some idiots pumped with poison. I’m sticking with you, and I’m bringing all my forces. I don’t give a fuck what Namjoon decides.”

Jungkook smiles gratefully and nods, but then turns serious as he comes closer to Jimin, hesitant as if asking permission to see his brother. Jimin is surprised but glad.

Jungkook puts the hair out of Yoongi’s eyes, his own closing as he sees his pale face. He takes a few moments to gather himself and then clears his throat, turning to his lieutenants. In this moment, when he’s standing tall and strong, cold ice in his gaze and his fists balled up in silent rage, Jimin sees it. Jimin sees Hades.

“Ten. You’re in charge of the guards while Yoongi is recovering,” he commands, and Ten nods curtly, his hands still around Taeyong who seems to have gathered himself. “Find people who aren’t injured and tired and triple the security, especially around the places that were hit.”

He turns to Johnny, his lips pressed together.

“When the morning comes, call Changkyun and Yuto. I need the information out of that little bitch, and I need it fast.” He clenches his fists a few times to try and stop his fingers from shaking. Taehyung comes up to him and stands near, facing the others, and it seems that just that makes Jungkook feel calmer.

“Taeyong, arrange for Hobi to stay here overnight. We have an apartment reserved for him, get it ready.”

Taeyong swallows and clenches his jaw, his lips trembling. He nods curtly.

“Call the workers in the morning, the ones we can trust.”

“I’ll contact Auntie,” he croaks out and clears his throat. “Her people helped us build the system in the first place.”

“Good.” Kook nods. “Don’t forget to mention that their perfect fucking system was broken into. Have them find the problem, fix it, and then prevent it from ever happening again. Make it fast. I don’t care how much money it takes.”

He takes a deep breath through his nose, standing even taller. Jimin notices blood on his wrist.

“Hobi, we’ll need to cooperate with your head of security. We’ll need to re-evaluate the guard system. I want everyone who can be spared here until we finish the rebuilding.”

Hoseok is already pulling out his phone, his face pale in the surgery lights.

Jimin looks down at Yoongi, feeling another wave of desperation. He fights it off. Yoongi wouldn’t want him to break down. He’d make some awful joke to make him laugh and distract him from the shit that’s going down. He squeezes his palm.

“Now — rest,” Jungkook orders. “Eat, sleep, spend time with your loved ones.”

He turns his head around to look at Yoongi and then — Jimin in the eye, just like he did earlier in the evening, but this time he’s not testing him. Jimin already proved his premonition to be true. He’s checking if they’re of the same mind. Jimin clenches his jaw, holding Yoongi’s hand tighter. He’d have this entire city leveled to the ground if it meant finding whoever attacked the Underworld and making them pay.

Jungkook nods to himself, satisfied, and turns back around.

He looks over their faces, the same determination and loyalty written all over them, and Jimin feels... Elevated. Blessed. A part of something great. There’s power brimming under Jungkook’s skin, the power of the King, and they all can sense it. They all obey it.

“I will make them pay,” he vows, taking Taehyung’s hand and intertwining their fingers. “We will. Get ready, people. We’re going to war.”

↹

Aphrodite slowly opens his eyes, a wave of nausea coming over him.

That one is peculiar. The gods never fall ill to the sicknesses of the mortal world.

He opens his eyes widely, trying to see anything. It’s too dark, but he feels the humid air and hears the dripping water. A cave. Somewhere near the water. Where there is water, there is Poseidon.

It makes him think about Ares, and the path that has led him here, to the dark cave he doesn’t remember coming to.

Atropos. He said something — _you did something far graver than just taking away someone’s love_. Aphrodite gulps for air, trying to reach his throat in his panic, but his wrists are tied to something invisible. He’s sitting on the ground but he can’t even stand up — he can barely kneel. Fear. He feels fear.

He feels exhausted, his body weak and fragile, and he closes his eyes to try and find Ares in his mind, borrows his love’s strength, but no matter how long he searches — there is nothing. His soul is empty. His powers.

His powers are gone.

Aphrodite feels a sob rise in his chest, but he contains it. He will not be weak. He will not succumb to panic. He will stand stronger than a thousand men, and he will show whoever took him that he is more than a pretty face.

He swallows, attempting to feel his surroundings. It is most certainly a cave, yet the energy of it is unfamiliar to him. Aphrodite takes a deep breath. It smells like the sea yet not the familiar salt of Poseidon’s castle. It is something different.

It is something human.

He is in the human’s realm. But even so, where is his power? Even when descending among the mortals, the gods still have their strength. He tugs at the ropes holding him and hears the rattle of metal. Those aren’t ropes. Those are chains.

Chains of such a great power and design that they can hold an immortal god. Not unlike the throne Hera was once captured in. The only thing that released him out of it was the promise Zeus made to the one who made it.

Aphrodite feels his insides freeze.

Hephaestus made the throne. He captured Hera. He made Zeus give Aphrodite to him.

Aphrodite gasps for air, the shock too great for his frailed body.

“Do not panic, my love.” It’s harsh and loud, and he flinches. He wishes he could rip that tongue out.

“I am not yours,” he grits out, the fear slowly fading away and giving place to rage. He is familiar with rage. He is bedding the embodiment of rage. “Not anymore.”

Suddenly, a dozen of lights appear, the fire bringing heat instantly, and Aphrodite jerks away from the sparks. His robes are muddy and torn, glittering purple cloth stained, and his knees are scraped. He feels like a human, and it feels like a curse.

“I do not care for what Zeus commands.” Hephaestus’ enraged face appears out of the shadows, and Aphrodite feels such disgust, such anger, such hate, that he bares his teeth and spits in his face.

Hephaestus jerks away, wiping at his face, and Aphrodite gladly takes the blow that inevitably comes. He enjoys the taste of his own blood on his lips, the drops slowly dripping down on his neck, on the sword necklace that Ares had once given him, and he remembers his love, sitting straighter, encouraged by the memory of his touch.

“It is foolish of you to assume you can hold me forever, Hephaestus,” he seethes, sudden enraged elevation to his voice. “He will burn the world down to find me.”

Hephaestus is breathing heavily, his chest heaving, and Aphrodite notices the gift he once gave him. The small hammer that always shows him if the one before him is sincere. He hopes Hephaestus feels the full power of his hate, his disgust the most sincere thing that he has ever felt since first lying with Ares.

The memory of his god of war makes him smile, his dry lips cracking and spilling more blood. He hopes he looks terrifying enough to stand next to his true love on the battlefield. Love and War. Always together.

“You will never see him again,” Hephaestus whispers, rasp, and Aphrodite laughs manically.

“It is destined,” he whispers, sudden madness to his eyes. “No matter what happens, no matter how hard we are ripped apart, no matter the worlds between us, no matter the spells and curses — I will always return to his arms.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> come yell at me on [twitter ](https://twitter.com/romulusadhara)  
> [come yell at me as anon](https://curiouscat.me/romulusadhara)


	10. X. atychiphobia.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I choose Min Yoongi.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [chapter moodboard](https://twitter.com/romulusadhara/status/1102145542975614976%20rel=)

_all I want — all I ever wanted — is in front of me, right in front of me_

_there’s no goodbyes. only us, so I will follow_

_hold you close, standing on the edge of no tomorrow_

_still deep in us, get that rush so I still follow_

_as long as you're feelin' the same, I'll follow you into the flames_

↹

Hades closes his eyes, trying to decide if it is a wise idea — to disturb Persephone when he’s trying to gather his strength in the gardens.

The news about Aphrodite has reached the Underworld in the face of Hermes, his face pale from the fear inflicted in him by Ares, when he came down to the Entrance to ask if Hades knows at least something about the god of love. By now, Hades muses, the entire Olympus knows about Persephone’s whereabouts, and perhaps they’re wondering if Aphrodite ran away to hide with his friend.

The god of spring did not take the news well. He’s been hiding in the gardens for a few days now, taking his energy from the flowers there, the ones that Hades planted for him. He knew Persephone would like the beauty of their growth, but he never anticipated that it would come to be under such grievous circumstances. He sighs. Oh, my poor flower.

Something is nibbling on his leg, and he lowers his gaze at Cerberus, one of his heads trying to get his Master’s attention. Hades pats the other ones and rubs them behind the ears.

“He will like you,” he whispers and straightens up, fixing his robes.

Cerberus, it seems, felt the presence of Persephone right away, and he has been chasing after Hades for days, begging to introduce them. Hades didn’t know his dog can even look that pleading. It is unbecoming, after all. He is the guardian of Hell, he is not supposed to be... Whining.

Hades takes a deep breath and comes forward, leaving the shadows and entering the garden. There are silver lights all around, the courtesy of Hecate, and Persephone is sitting amidst the hyacinths, a few roses in his hands. He’s stroking the petals, singing softly.

“Persephone,” Hades greets, nervous. It seems that his soul will never stop trembling in the presence of the god that took his heart.

Persephone looks up, blinking slowly. It pains Hades — to see how empty and lifeless his face is. He is in grief over a friend he does not even think dead, and his skin is even paler than when he came here. Hades bites his lips. Cerberus whines quietly, and Persephone looks down to Hades’ legs, curious.

Cerberus, as if feeling the attention on him, steps around Hades and approaches the god of spring tentatively, keeping the heads to the ground. It’s pathetic. The Dog isn’t supposed to be afraid or shy. Hades would be disappointed in him if his reaction to seeing Persephone wouldn’t be pretty much the same.

“Hello,” Persephone greets the dog, a faint memory of the fire in his gaze appearing again as a warming presence.

Cerberus whines and comes even closer, poking Persephone’s leg with one of his noses. Persephone carefully lifts his palm to put it on his head, carefully stroking behind his ear.

“You have a few more heads than usual,” Persephone muses quietly, but there is no disgust in his voice. Just curiosity. “Which one should I pet first, m-m?”

Cerberus, ever the smart boy, starts yapping in excitement — and Hades sighs, resisting the urge to hide his face in his hands. Yapping. Cerberus. Oh gods.

The dog, meanwhile, turns over and lies on his back, wiggling on the ground.

“Ah, you’re quite right, my friend,” Persephone murmurs with a nod. “Why settle for a head when I can rub your tummy?”

He starts stroking the fur, and Cerberus yaps even louder, his excitement coming off of him in waves. Hades puts his arms on his chest and covers his mouth. What has his loyal and fearless dog resorted to? Embarrassing.

“What is your name, my precious?” Persephone asks in the gentlest of voices, his lips soft and no longer pursed together.

And then, he does something that Hades has been dreaming about for months — he smiles, wide and genuine, his laugh breathless as he plays with the dog, and Hades feels his entire body experience something so strange — he feels as if he is flying.

Persephone’s smile is the most beautiful thing he has ever seen, and he wishes for him never to cease being happy. He is so afraid that Persephone will look at him and stop, and he knows it will break his heart, but he opens his mouth nonetheless.

“Cerberus,” Hades informs him, his voice cracking. “His name is Cerberus.”

Persephone looks up as if he forgot Hades is even there, and his smile falters. It does not disappear completely, but it turns softer and more subtle, yet it still possesses the immeasurable beauty.

“Ah,” he breathes out, looking down on the dog again, enjoying the excitement the animal is showing and laughs when Cerberus grabs his hand with his paws. Hades surges forward, scared, but Persephone stops him with his gaze.

“He won’t hurt me,” he says calmly.

“He is used to dragging the souls into the Underworld.” Hades frowns, worried.

“Well,” Persephone muses, tilting his head, squinting his eyes mockingly. “I have already been dragged here, have I not?”

Hades feels as if his insides get frozen. Of course. He should never forget the simple fact — Persephone hates him, and that will never change, no matter how many pretty flowers and precious dogs he brings to him. Hades takes a deep breath, containing his reaction to his clenched fists. It hurts, surely it does. He will not get angry, though, and definitely not at Persephone.

“I will leave you to it, then,” he murmurs, turning around and wishing to run away to hide in his house and suffer through the embarrassment and pain he feels inside.

“Stay.”

He freezes, afraid that he has misheard, his heart planting sounds into his mind. He turns around slowly, watching Persephone’s face for any sign of deception or mockery. There is nothing but kindness.

Hades takes a few careful steps forward, looking at Persephone’s eyes and waiting for him to send him away, after all. There is nothing, just dancing lights, his smile still firmly on his lips. He’s still playing with Cerberus, a few giggles escaping him when the dog nibbles on his fingers. Hades lowers himself carefully across the god of spring, enjoying the way the grass is soft and inviting under him. Persephone nods contently, turning his attention back to the dog, his smile ever so wide.

“Tell me about the Underworld, Hades,” he asks calmly without looking up.

Hades blinks slowly, his mind suddenly devoid of thoughts, aghast at such an inquiry. But, of course, Hades promised to show him the real truth about his realm, so it is only fair to start now in hopes of distracting Persephone from his grief.

“It is beautiful,” he starts, breathless. He loves his home, and he is beyond thrilled to tell the one he loves about it. “There are legends and rumors about the nightmares I bring, but those are only barely true. I only bring pain to those who deserve it.”

“And those who don’t?” Persephone tilts his head, and Hades waits for another accusation, but it never comes. He is simply curious.

“Those who don’t?” He hums, smiling ever so slightly. “The Underworld accepts them if they are truly deserving to stay here for eternity without being condemned to suffering. The souls... They are delicate. Most mortals go through a lot of pain during their time, but those who endure it without losing what makes them human — the Underworld becomes their salvation.”

X

Jimin wakes up with a gasp. He dreamt about burning again, his fingers numb from the cold. He takes a few breaths, the familiarity of Yoongi’s room calming him down.

He swallows and shuts his eyes firmly, trying to chase the images he was seeing as if they can provide him some answers. To which questions — he doesn’t even suspect.

He searches for Yoongi’s hand with his, trying to ground himself. It’s warm under his fingers, and he allows himself a breath of relief. He tunes into the sound of the heart monitor, intent on listening to the steady beating of Yoongi’s lifeline as he drifts away again.

He doesn’t get to concentrate. There is a soft whisper somewhere in the room, and he jerks his head to look at the intruder, suddenly terrified that the woman that almost killed Yoongi came back to finish the job.

It’s not a murderer. It’s three boys, their surprised faces staring at Jimin with the same agog expression. He raises his eyebrows. What?

One of the boys opens his mouth, and before Jimin can do something to stop it, there’s a surge of words coming out of him.

“We’re so sorry, Aphrodite, we just wanted to see how Yoongi was doing, and the door was unlocked, and we knocked, but nobody answered, and we just figured we’d sneak a peek, you know? He’s like a dad to us, but please don’t tell him that, say we called him a cool older brother, or he’ll make us do seventy lapses around the Hotel again, and...”

“Stop,” Jimin breathes out, his head spinning from the onslaught of information. “I’m begging you, stop talking.”

The boy shuts his mouth with a loud sound, his eyes ever so wide.

“First of all,” Jimin breathes out, rubbing his temple. “Don’t call me _that_. Second of all, who are you?”

Another boy clears his throat and looks at Jimin like he missed the news about the world ending.

“We’re Yoongi’s kids,” he says calmly, but Jimin doesn’t even get to choke on air before he corrects himself. “His trainees, I mean. I’m Xiaojun.”

He waves his hand lazily, and Jimin immediately decides he likes this one. It’s not that easy to achieve such a flawless resting bitch energy, he knows it himself, and Xiaojun seems to be nailing it.

He looks down on Yoongi, making sure that the blankets aren’t cramped and the IV drip is still in place.

“This is Hendery.” Xiaojun gestures to the boy who almost destroyed Jimin’s brain with his rant. Hendery waves in excitement, almost jumping up and down, and Jimin can’t help but smile at him. He feels kind and bright, and it is strange that he is training to be one of Yoongi’s assassins. But then again — this place is filled with people you would never suspect of being criminals.

“That’s Yangyang,” Xiaojun continues, and a shy kid peeks out from behind Hendery, smiling softly at Jimin. Ah, why are they all such angels?

“Nice to meet you,” Jimin murmurs, not sure if he’s saying the truth or just trying to be polite. He feels exhausted. He couldn’t fall asleep until late morning when Yoongi stopped murmuring in his sleep and his fever seemed to have subsided. It’s been three days, but he’s still unconscious. Taeyong says it’s okay, his body is healing, but Jimin will only believe it when Yoongi opens his eyes and calls him annoying again.

“How is he?” Yangyang asks quietly, his eyes sad as he looks at Yoongi’s pale face.

Jimin sighs and puts a strand of hair away from his forehead. Even like this, he looks beautiful. Yes, he thinks Yoongi is beautiful, and he’s owning it. The way back is still slightly visible, but with every day he gets farther away from choosing it.

“He’s getting better,” he murmurs, looking up at the boys. “And he needs rest.”

Hendery’s eyes widen, and he opens his mouth, a pout undoubtedly on the way, but Xiaojun stops him with one motion of his hand and urges the two to step away.

“We’ll get lost,” he informs Jimin, and yeah, he definitely likes the kid. “Thanks for talking.”

They leave in a flurry of Yangyang’s black robe and Hendery trying to whine Xiaojun into staying. As soon as the door closes after them, Jimin realizes how quiet it is.

He lies back down, facing Yoongi and wrapping his fingers around his wrist. It’s become somewhat of a habit — to always feel his pulse. He sighs.

“You’re rude,” he murmurs, pouting. “Taking a vacation while the entire gang is going into overdrive. They’ve already dragged like seven cops here. Don’t know what they do to them in that basement. Don’t really care.”

Yoongi stays silent, of course he does, and Jimin feels his eyes stinging. He refuses to cry. Not now. Not ever.

“I’m skipping classes,” he shares, not caring if he’s not being heard. If he stays silent any more, he’s going to lose his mind. “I think it’s the first time I don’t care. You’re a bad influence, Min Yoongi.”

It’s midday, but someone closed all the curtains, he notes absentmindedly. Someone also set up a few candles in the room while he was sleeping. Probably Ten. Yoongi’s bandages look fresh, too, so Taeyong was definitely here. He doesn’t know what they’re up to these days. He hasn’t left this room since they first brought Yoongi here.

He’s taking showers, and people bring him food, and he changes clothes, and even does his skincare routine, and he keeps himself organized — it’s the only thing he can do not to go mad. He even cleaned out the room Yoongi uses as a closet, sorting everything out and going as far as doing laundry, even though Ten informed him they have people for that. He needed something to occupy himself with. He also needed an excuse to throw his clothes into the washing machine and wear Yoongi’s. He analyzed the fact of him liking it, after all, but the resultant outcome wasn’t really helpful. He has deduced that he likes the smell. And to hell with it. He doesn’t care what it means. He just likes it.

“Min Yoongi,” he repeats in a soft whisper. “Ares. Who’s the real one, eh?”

Taehyung visited them once when Jimin was awake to force him to eat something. They didn’t talk about the elevator. Jimin didn’t bring it up, Taehyung didn’t press. He hugged him and told him to hold on. Yoongi is a tough cookie.

“I saw him, you know,” he whispers against his will. He didn’t tell the story to Taehyung, but it is boiling in his blood, begging to get out. He’s letting it for now. When Yoongi won’t remember it. “He was in my head when I was dying. Told me to hold on, promised that you’d get me out. I wanted to stay because it felt so safe with him, but he said... He said I couldn’t be near him. It’s not safe. He said I could stay in the darkness, but you’ll be waiting. And then I saw _you_. You called, and I answered. And look at us now.”

His voice is hoarse and wet, but he doesn’t pay it much heed. He still remembers it all so vividly — Ares’ armor, his form slim and strong, his sword hidden by his robes. He did not look like a vengeful god. He looked like a man deprived of his lover’s touch. And he was — sad. So sad.

“ _He_ was there, too,” he whispers barely audible, his voice as a whistle. He doesn’t think he can say the name, but he knows he has to. One of these days, he finally has to. “Aphrodite.”

He closes his eyes as if expecting something to happen, but it’s still quiet, the smell of candles engulfing him, Yoongi’s pulse beating steadily, the monitor beeping quietly. He swallows and licks his lips, his own heart hammering.

“I didn’t see him clearly, but I saw the lights, and I knew... I knew it was him. I wanted to go to him, but Ares said it’s too early.” He grits his teeth, sudden fear consuming him. “What did he mean, Yoongi?”

He feels his body shaking, the cold making him tremble, and he wraps the covers closer around him, pressing his face into Yoongi’s shoulder. He looks at the painting across from the bed.

They seem right.

Ares and Aphrodite, side by side, their minds occupied somewhere else yet their bodies close. They share one soul, it seems. He can imagine the figures on the painting move, the gods bringing their council further into chaos but those two staying close to each other. Always close. Always together. Through time and realms.

Can he allow it? Can he allow his soul this relief? Of finally giving in? Accepting the name and everything that goes with it. Accepting Ares.

Loving Yoongi.

He shoots up in bed, terrified by the thought, clutching his chest as if he can rip his traitorous heart out, burn it to ashes, and all the feelings — with it.

It has been barely two months.

It has been hate, and hurt, and annoyance, and bitterness.

It has been laughter, and kindness, and gentleness, and Yoongi.

Can he? Is it even possible? To fall down a dark pit so fast just because the light at the end of it seems like an answer to every question he never posed?

He looks back down at Yoongi’s face, his forehead covered in a sheen of sweat. He touches it and feels his heart beat ever faster as he realizes that Yoongi’s fever broke. He is going to wake up soon.

What will he say to him? How will he make his lips form the words? Which sounds will he be able to force out of himself?

_I broke down the second I saw you on that table, thinking you dead._

_I lost control because I thought I lost_ you.

_I had never felt such powerful grief as when I thought that I would never be able to tell you how much you mean to me._

Because he does.

He means.

He means so much.

Jimin stands up and goes to the other room to search for his phone in his own jeans. It has been days since he last looked at it, but he cannot think of a single person outside this Hotel who would care.

It’s dead, of course, and he patiently waits for it to charge enough to turn back on. He strokes Yoongi’s hand. It’s like when he was a kid — _close your eyes, and I’ll softly touch your arm, and you say when it tickles by the elbow_. It had something to do with nerve endings, he thinks, but they always believed it could sometimes feel like someone touches your heart.

“You tickle,” he whispers, looking at Yoongi’s face.

What does Yoongi feel? What does he dream of? What does he think about when he looks at Jimin?

Does he feel the same pull? Is he as fascinated with Jimin as Jimin is with him? Does he see Jimin, or does he still wish to find the Aphrodite in his eyes?

“Could you...” He whispers, blinking rapidly, letting the fire of that one single hopeful thought spread in his mind, just for a single moment. “Could you possibly...”

The phone lights up, and he turns his attention to it, startled. No notifications except for a few dozen texts in one chain.

He doesn’t even read them when he opens it — just presses the number and puts it to his ear.

Tony picks up immediately, but Jimin doesn’t let him say a word. He grips Yoongi’s arm to steady himself.

“We need to meet,” he grits out. “I’m out of town now, but come by my apartment on Saturday around three.”

He hangs up right after that, releasing a breath. It has been long overdue.

He climbs up on the bed and kneels before Yoongi, checking that there’s no bleeding, all the stitches are okay, and the IV is steady.

It’s easy — to lean in and leave a soft kiss on Yoongi’s forehead, lingering for only a moment before breathing out and letting go.

“Just wait for me,” he whispers before getting off the bed and going for the door.

He doesn’t turn around before leaving, doesn’t linger for even a second, and so as the door closes behind him with a soft click, he doesn’t hear the song that seems to come from nowhere and end everywhere.

X

Jungkook is busy going over some papers, his hands buried in his hair making it stand up in spikes, his tired eyes drilling a sentence as if he wants it to confess a great sin.

The door was open, but Jimin still knocks on it as a courtesy. Jungkook looks up, his eyes red, and blinks in surprise when he sees who’s there.

“Is Yoongi awake?” He asks, moving as if to stand up, but he sinks back down with a disappointed look when Jimin shakes his head slightly.

“Nah, but I think he’s going to be soon,” he says, taking a few careful steps inside. “Am I interrupting? You look busy.”

“I am, but please come in and interrupt,” Jungkook pleads, a look on him that suggests he’d take someone up on an offer to go pogo sticking if they asked just to distract himself. “You know what they don’t teach you in criminal school? Leading a gang comes with paperwork. A huge fucking load of paperwork.”

Jimin snickers as he sits down across from him. He’s been in this office a handful of times but he was always too preoccupied to actually look around.

“Isn’t Taeyong the one handling it?” He wonders while he studies the room.

The first thing that draws his attention is a curtain in the corner — he knows there’s a door behind it, the one they left through on Saturday. He clenches his jaw.

A little left to it is a huge wooden cabinet. It looks old but treasured, and there’s something familiar about it Jimin can’t quite put his finger on. The room is done in soft red and brown colors, and it somehow suits Jungkook’s energy. There are paintings on the wall and a few pictures scattered here and there. He thinks he sees one of Yoongi, Jungkook, and Taeyong, but they look younger and more vicious. Probably the times the Underworld was just a dream and a plan.

There’s a leather couch on the other side of the room with another door behind it. Jungkook’s desk is positioned in the way that the windows are on his back, and it probably has a reason — just as the perps in the interrogation rooms always sit with their faces to the light. Jungkook wants to clearly see his interlocutor but does not wish for them to properly see him, blinded by the light. Smart.

“Yeah, but he has his hands full as it is.” Jungkook flinches on behalf of his lefthand man. “We’re taking out Kim’s people, but we don’t want to leave him a trail. He can’t have the advantage of the evidence. Not now.”

Jimin raises his eyebrows. Not now? They probably have some elaborate plan, but it’s not his concern now.

Yoongi will find out about it and tell him later, anyway. So. There’s that.

“Besides,” Jungkook continues, rubbing his neck. “I still want to be up to date on everything going on. You can’t be a leader if you cower behind the backs of your employees. A fact my father made damn sure to teach his kids but never use himself.”

Jimin wonders what Jungkook was like as a kid. Probably reserved and shy, keeping to himself and blooming in the shadows. He feels some resentment yet a great deal of sadness coming from Jungkook when he is talking about Cronus. Interesting.

“Anyway.” Jungkook puts his hands together and looks at Jimin intently. “What can I do for you?”

It’s peculiar how he treats Jimin — like any other member. It’s unsettling but gives hope that he can achieve what he came here to do. It’s funny — how his first visit to this office had the exact opposite purpose of what he wants to ask now.

“I— I need your help.”

It’s not that easy to say it out loud because he hates asking for help, he hates looking weak, he hates being vulnerable and letting people see it.

But the fact that eight floors above a man that he finds his mind drawn to is lying unconscious but alive because Jimin _felt_ it, showed him how sometimes, it’s useful to talk about your fears. You never know how many lives it will save.

Jungkook raises his eyebrows, the corners of his lips turning up.

“Anything I can do, Jimin,” he says simply, and Jimin remembers Taehyung’s words.

_He’s a good leader, an amazing one, even. But he rarely lets people see that he is a good person, too. And he is, I swear._

He is. Jimin used to hate the fact that he felt it to be true but today — it’s only acceptance. He seems to be accepting a lot of shit he would’ve hated two months ago these days.

“Thank you,” he says genuinely. “But first, I need to come clean about something.”

He stops there, feeling his heartbeat pick up. It’s one thing to decide to do it in the darkness of Yoongi’s room with nothing there but his thoughts and scenarios he plays out in his head, but it’s completely another — to look at Jungkook’s open and too-understanding face and realize that it’s fucking hard to predict Jungkook’s reaction.

“The Underworld isn’t a place of nightmares, Jimin, you know,” Jungkook says softly when the pause gets too long. His eyes are kind, Jimin notes. They’re all so damn kind around here. “We only bring pain to those who deserve it.”

“And what do you do to those who don’t?” He murmurs against his will, kneading his palms.

Jungkook leans back in his chair, shrugging with a smile.

“Depends on the situation,” he drawls. “Mostly, people who come here for help have gone through a lot of pain. Minds are strong, but souls aren’t. When someone comes to me asking for help — I need to know if their soul is still human. If it is — I do everything in my power.”

Jimin chuckles, looking over him. He’s wiser than one would expect, looking at those doe eyes and young face. He remembers seeing him for the first time and thinking that they look old — his eyes. Yet the longer you look in them, the more you realize — his body is young, yet it’s his heart that’s ancient. Suddenly, there’s no more surprise in Jimin at Taehyung being in love with him. Taehyung is an old soul, his heart way too empty for its size. But it seems that now it has been occupied by someone who deserves to be there. The only one that does.

“You say the mind is strong,” he starts, frowning, unsure of his words. “But what if the mind was tainted? Messed with? Assaulted?”

There’s no visible change in Jungkook’s face, but Jimin feels something stir in his soul. Worry. Suspicion. Guilt.

“What do you mean?” Jungkook asks, leaning forward again and intertwining his fingers before him.

Jimin blinks, almost visibly seeing the change in his mood. What does he know that Jimin doesn’t? What is he afraid to reveal?

He stares at him long and hard, realizing that this is the moment he needs to decide if he trusts Jeon Jungkook. Because if he places his faith in Hades and it backfires, there won’t be a way back. For Taehyung, there already isn’t. He’s connected to this place and people in more ways than just a ring on his finger. The ring can be taken off, the engagement can be canceled, the heartbreak can be healed.

But Tae has already given the Underworld his soul, bitten into the pomegranate, established his place as the Prince of Hell. He’s everywhere. In the rooms where the traces of his kindness can be found on the criminals’ faces. In this exact office where his jacket is thrown over Jungkook’s chair. In the very ground where his steps birthed flowers of change, his arrival starting the chain of events that is irreversible now.

Jimin has always walked with Taehyung. Ever since childhood, he was always by his side, sometimes taking it so much for granted that he was shocked to find Tae stepping off their joint path. He knows him like the back of his hand, and it pains him that he didn’t notice the change that overcame his best friend, the love that brought his mind out of the darkness, the attachment that spread way beyond a simple crush.

In this moment, Jimin has to decide if he trusts Jeon Jungkook, but there’s a catch he never realized before. Loving Taehyung is his personality trait, and now he sees it as clear as he saw the red string coming out of Ares’ armor, worn and charred but still alive.

Loving Taehyung means trusting Jungkook. There’s no more compromises, no more “talk-later”s, no more conditions. It’s plain and simple, and he finds himself once again before a choice.

When you come to think of it, it was an easy one all along.

“I don’t have a good deal of my memories,” Jimin says evenly, his voice finally finding strength. “And I feel that most of them are somehow connected to the Underworld.”

Jungkook is silent, measuring him with his gaze for a long moment, his face stone-cold. But then, his shoulders relax and he takes a deep sigh.

“I know,” he says just as evenly.

Jimin reckons he’s supposed to be surprised. He’s not.

“How?”

“Taehyung accidentally mentioned that you were here on Halloween,” Jungkook explains and turns his head to the left, gesturing to a dent in the wall Jimin hadn’t noticed before. “That was Yoongi’s reaction.”

Jimin stares at the wood, remembering last Monday and Yoongi almost making another dent like this. He noticed his knuckles were already scraped. So that’s what it was.

“He didn’t tell me,” Jimin murmurs, feeling something unpleasant in his chest.

“We figured it could trigger you somehow,” Jungkook says apologetically. “It’s taken a toll on Taehyung. He hates keeping secrets from you.”

Jimin feels his eyes sting against his will, and he blames his exhaustion from constantly worrying about Yoongi. He finds himself smiling, his lips pressed together.

“He does,” he agrees with a soft laugh. “He told me about you the day you first met, you know?”

Jungkook smiles wide, rubbing his neck. He feels like he’s happy. Jimin has long abandoned his attempts to mind that. He’s in Jungkook’s team now, even if he’s just a backup player.

“Sounds like him,” Kook murmurs but then gathers himself. “I’m really sorry we didn’t tell you. Yoongi asked.”

That simple. The great Hades kept a secret just because Yoongi asked. They’re sworn brothers, he reminds himself.

A sudden thought flashes through his mind — if he’s deciding to stick with the Underworld, at least for a while, it means he’s closer to being Yoongi’s... something. Maybe, a true friend. Maybe...

He swallows and looks at Jungkook’s serious.

“I’m assuming there’s already some plan in motion?” He wonders, leaning closer.

“Yeah, Yoongi took care of that.” Kook nods. “Nothing we did brought results, though. We asked Aether to gather all the tapes they have of you in the past year, and Taeyong needs to take your blood sample to see if it’s some potion.”

Jimin nods, processing the information, and wondering absentmindedly how it doesn’t feel like he thought it would be — there’s no “big revelation” energy, no surprise and shock, no disbelief. It’s strange to be trusted so fast.

He’d expect himself to be mad at being deceived, left alone in the dark, wondering and afraid. They were trying to protect him — and it’s such a bullshit excuse that he wants to snort, but something inside feels warm. The only person who ever cared about him enough to keep him from bad shit was Taehyung, and it seems that now there are more people on the ‘caring for Jimin’ squad. It feels vulnerable. It feels new. He isn’t angry, but he isn’t happy. He’s confused.

Out of the frying pan into the fire.

He just wishes to finally find his place.

“Jimin,” Jungkook calls out, and Jimin looks at him, realizing he spaced out for a bit. Kook’s face is serious, and Jimin feels his words before they even come. “As I said, I’m ready to help anyone who asks for it if they pass my evaluation.”

“Did I, then?” Jimin tilts his head to the side.

Jungkook takes a pause, sighing deeply.

“You passed Yoongi’s.”

Jimin blinks, not allowing the emotions inside show on his face. Something in him fears the statement. The realization.

“What did Yoongi look at, then?” He whispers, suddenly so sad it’s hard to form words. “Me, or something he thought lives in my soul?”

Jungkook’s face darkens, his jaw clenched. Is he mad at Jimin? Does he know what he means? Is he another person wishing to call him by the name he never claimed? The title he is nowhere near to accepting?

“You’ll have to ask him that,” Kook finally answers, tension in his shoulders. “But I need you to know that Yoongi is always honest. He’s kind, kinder than he wants to admit, but he’s blunt, and if you don’t like what you hear — don’t think it’s because he’s lying.”

It’s getting confusing somehow, and Jimin takes a deep breath through his nose.

“What do you think I feel for him?” The question surprises him, but it’s genuine. For the first time in years, he wants someone else to give him an answer, to decide for him, to sort it out. He’s tired of being locked inside his own head. He needs something that will finally feel like a revelation.

Kook tilts his chin and chuckles.

“I don’t know, Jimin, I really don’t.” He shakes his head regretfully, something akin to pity in his eyes. “But I know that everybody in this Hotel will get affected when _you_ finally find the answer.”

Jimin looks down on his hands, the roots of devastation creeping into his heart. He’s tired. He wants to decide something about it, he wants to get something out of his own damned heart.

“I need to be near him,” he confesses almost soundlessly, but Kook still catches it. “I don’t know why but I need to. I need to.”

“Did you know about Yoongi’s watch?” Jungkook asks suddenly, and Jimin looks up, startled. “It started going the day I met Taehyung.”

Jimin stays silent, his mind going over the first time Yoongi told him about that damn thing. It was their first talk in the alley, the one that made Jimin feel like shit, and Yoongi told him about destiny. Destiny, unusual possessions, and smoke. He chuckles. It all changed so much since then.

“The thing is,” Jungkook continues meanwhile. “The weird shit started much earlier. About a year ago.”

Jimin tilts his head, surprised. Now _that_ is something new. Yoongi never told him about. He leans forward, his elbows on his knees.

“What do you mean?”

“We all felt it,” Kook says, rubbing his lips and looking away. “I remember Yoongi said something about a script… Like it was ending. Like something is supposed to begin soon. I thought soon meant days. It took seven months.”

Jimin feels something at the back of his mind, a distant memory trying to awake from slumber but failing, restricted by something far stronger than Jimin’s will. He claws desperately at the chains in his head, craving the answer, wanting to know.

“I think you appearing here is a far more predetermined thing than Taehyung meeting me,” Jungkook says, his lips pressed together. “We would have met one way or another, I know that. But you? You _had_ to come here yourself.”

“Why do you think so?” Jimin wonders almost with panic because it feels like everyone around him has it all figured out, finds the answers faster than him, sees the truth clearer. “I wouldn’t have come here if I wasn’t trying to get Tae out.”

Jungkook takes a deep sigh and rubs his eyes.

“I’m just telling you what I feel, Jimin,” he says tiredly. “Something was always supposed to bring you here. And I think we both know what I’m talking about.”

He looks down on Jimin’s chest, the sword necklace shining in the lights of the room, and Jimin wraps his fingers around it unconsciously, feeling his lips tremble.

“You all keep talking about fate, and paths, all that fatalistic bullshit,” he breathes out, his blood boiling. “And maybe I want to believe you, maybe, but you know what I think? I make my own fucking destiny. I don’t follow some grand plan, and it’s obvious the plan doesn’t like it because it keeps screwing me over.”

He knows his face is probably red because he feels so agitated, so angry, so upset, and he rubs his lips, trying to calm down.

“I’m tired of everyone telling me what I’m supposed and not supposed to be,” he declares, looking at Jungkook. “Someone took my memories away from me, and I know there’s an answer I need in those memories. I need them back.”

“And I’ll help you,” Jungkook agrees, closing his eyes briefly. “I just need to know that you’re ready for what we might uncover.”

He thinks about his father. Halloween. Tony. Yoongi.

He thinks about his father, locked up somewhere on the outskirts of the city, the ghosts of delusions haunting his mind, his fate forever sealed and tied to the hospital, never to take care of his son ever again.

He thinks about Halloween, something so fundamental having happened then that someone thought it fit to destroy any recollection Jimin has of it. The more he thinks about it — the more those fake images dissipate, the hole in his memory getting bigger.

He thinks about Tony, the guy who he thought of as dear to his heart but who never even allowed Jimin to take care of him, choosing to ignore him while he dealt with his issues. Tony, who was here with Jimin but never brought it up, who found out he didn’t remember anything and introduced himself as if he was someone new. Tony, who changed his attitude in a matter of seconds for some unknown reason and made Jimin doubt and blame himself. Tony, who knows far more than he lets on.

He thinks about Yoongi.

Yoongi.

Yoongi, whose energy Jimin felt attuned to from the very beginning. Yoongi, whom he hated for so long only to find out that it was the curse that, he comes to realize, made every dark thought of his multiply and consume him — his desire to disappear, his wish to keep Taehyung to himself, the fear of his empathy accepting Yoongi so fast that it mixed with confusion and curiosity and turned into a huge mess that he only now managed to untangle himself from. What would he feel about him if they met under different circumstances? What would happen if he was all himself, no magic in his mind, no poison in his bloodstream? What would his first thought about Min Yoongi be? Would it be easier to come to love him?

“It does not matter if I’m ready,” Jimin finally answers, feeling a sense of cooling serenity coming over him. “I still need to know.”

Jungkook purses his lips but nods.

“Then we’ll bring you into the loop as soon as Yoongi wakes up,” he decides and smiles. “For what it’s worth, I’m happy you trusted me enough to tell me this.”

“Taehyung is my soulmate,” Jimin says simply. “I would’ve followed him anywhere, even to the pits of Hell. It was only a matter of time.”

Jungkook chuckles and wipes at his chin, his dimples showing. He’s pretty, Jimin notes. They all are. It’s like you can’t become a criminal if you don’t have the potential to win a beauty contest.

“Besides, you have someone in here worth sticking with,” Kook notes innocently, shrugging with one shoulder. “You seem to be really into taking care of Yoongi.”

Jimin gasps offended, puffing his chest.

“He needs someone to watch him,” he parrs defensively, pouting slightly. “What if he wakes up, or gets worse?”

“Taeyong has him hooked to his equipment,” Jungkook drawls, raising an eyebrow. “He’d know if Yoongi woke up. Besides, he’s only in his room because you insisted. We would’ve left him in the hospital wing if you didn’t threaten to dye Taeyong’s hair black while he sleeps if we don’t relocate him.”

Jimin looks at his lap, putting a mask of innocence on his face.

“Don’t recall doing such a thing,” he says theatrically, studying his nails. Jungkook snorts and starts laughing, and Jimin scoffs, rolling his eyes. “What? I wanted him to be in a familiar environment. And those beds at the infirmary looked uncomfortable as all hell.”

“Sure, Min,” Kook says mockingly, his eyes still sparkling from the laughter.

“Oh, shut up,” Jimin murmurs, throwing a pen his way. Kook catches in with his hand and puts it away, still looking smug.

Jimin rolls his eyes. In retrospective, it could’ve been worse. Who else can brag about throwing something at the Hades and staying alive? He looks like a dork, all giddy at exposing Jimin, and it looks like something Jimin could get used to.

He looks up to say something funny again to try and deepen the bond they seem to be developing, but there’s suddenly a feeling of anxiety spreading over him.

Not a second later, the door to Jungkook’s office bursts open, and Jimin barely manages to turn around before Jungkook sprints up to cover him with his body, his gun on the ready. Jimin blinks, taken aback by such an act of protection.

“Would you calm the fuck down?!”

It’s Taeyong’s voice, and Jimin sees Jungkook’s shoulders relax as he steps away to reveal the newcomers.

At first, Jimin can’t place two men, but the rainbow hair pushes a memory inside his mind. Kibum. Iris, Yoongi called him. He looks angry, his eyes searching the room until they spot Jimin, his face twisting in rage as he tries to come closer. Someone stops him with their hand on his chest, and Jimin looks up at Minho, the guy that, as he recalls, is something of a Kibum’s partner and one of the Moirai. He’s pretty sure they never leave their office, so what’s happened now that he’s here, his gaze cautious and suspicious as he measures Jimin with it?

Taeyong is next to them, his face annoyed and tired, the circles under his eyes a bright contrast to his fair hair. He’s looking at Kibum, still waiting for an answer.

“Iris,” Jungkook says, and there’s not a trace of humor in his voice that was just there a minute ago. It’s Hades now. “You know that I respect you, and you are welcomed here, but care to explain why you’re barging in here in such a state?”

Some distracted part of Jimin’s mind wonders at how cold and powerful he sounds, a staggering difference from a chill guy Jimin is used to. He feels something stir in his stomach, not unlike to that time he caught a glimpse of Ares in Yoongi’s agitated state. He needs to get used to the thought that the Underworld is all about duality. Their nicknames might seem pretentious to someone else, but Jimin is coming to realize that they use it not only for their own protection but for their sanity — as long as they separate their real personas and the criminal ones, they can still remember which is which.

“I did what Ares asked me to,” Kibum grits out, his anger pulsing on his skin, its red traces visible in his veins. Is Jimin the only one seeing the colors? “I cracked the lock. Took me longer than expected, but the cage looked like it was made by someone born with a blacksmith gift.”

Jungkook nods calmly, his palms crossed but his stance open and non-threatening.

“And what have you so agitated, then?” He asks cooly, his head tilted.

Kibum grits his teeth, looking at Jimin again, his fury so great it seems hard for him even to form words.

Jimin notices something then. Behind his anger, there’s confusion, and — fear. Jimin can almost see it around him. It’s a strange picture, and it keeps disappearing, but it feels just like it always does when he knows what someone is feeling if he concentrates on them. It’s different now, almost as if it evolved — he can _see_ the emotions. It’s peculiar and intriguing. He wonders what Yoongi will think of it.

“It’s what he found inside the boxes,” Minho explains when the silence stretches for too long, only Kibum’s labored breathing audible in the room. “We didn’t mean to open them, but they were damp from the warehouse, and some of them ripped. Some… folders fell out.”

Both Taeyong and Jungkook raise their eyebrows, curious. Jimin feels the dread grow stronger. He has no idea what was inside the boxes someone wanted to hide, but he can feel that the truth isn’t the one he can handle right now. He rubs his chest nervously.

“What was inside?” He asks cautiously, taking a deep breath to steady himself.

“You tell me,” Kibum growls, raising his hand. Jimin only now notices that there’s a folder in it, and he guesses they belong to him. The papers from the boxes.

“I don’t even remember those boxes,” he says almost annoyed, coming closer. “I wasn’t the one packing up the house. I was in the hospital at the time.”

“Which is what I told Kibum,” Minho explains, swallowing nervously. There’s still that strange wondering look in his eyes when he looks at Jimin, and it’s close to becoming annoying. “But the contents of the files… They don’t speak toward your case, I am afraid.”

Jimin huffs, having enough of this cryptic bullshit. He takes the folder, looking it over. Taeyong and Jungkook come closer, interested themselves.

It looks like a standard paper folder, yellow color stained with dampness. The side he’s looking at it is blank, but when he turns it around, he feels the air leave his lungs, freezing shock locking his limbs.

There’s a title, written in bold black, and even if some panicked part of Jimin’s mind tries to deny it, he knows the handwriting — it’s his.

“ _Orpheus_.”

It’s Taeyong, voicing his own nickname written across the folder, his tone lifeless. Jimin feels his hands shake as he opens the folder, an old picture facing him from the first page with a detailed profile written under it in neat lines. He looks up at Taeyong’s frozen face and then back down at the same one but from a different time and place. His hair is red in the picture, and it looks like it was taken from the distance. He’s talking to someone off camera, and Jimin hates the fact that he recognizes the sleeve of Yoongi’s jacket, but he does. Taeyong looks mid-sentence, looking at Yoongi with a frown.

He reads the profile, his brain still stubbornly denying that it _is_ his handwriting, his familiar small letters, curled at the bottom. It would look like a police report if not for the notes added here and there.

_**Lee Taeyong, Orpheus, 25 y.o.** _

_Position: Hades’ left hand. Main business manager. Best friend._

_Connections: Hades and Ares — sworn brothers. They seem like they would die for each other, but Yoongi fed him a spiced hot dog last week just to laugh at his reaction. Ten (nickname wasn’t given yet?) — lover, but they seem to have gotten together just a few weeks ago. I’ve seen him once with Yoongi, but it doesn’t look like he’s joined the squad yet, probably still in training. [...]_

_He doesn’t seem to leave the Hotel too often, but I think he’s just used to handling everything from the inside. The entire system is reliant on him planning everything out. If Yoongi is the brawn, Taeyong is the brain._

_I found some info (receipts next) on him going to the university here but something happened in his third year, he got kicked out. After the Underworld came into power, Jungkook paid a lot of people to let Taeyong finish his education. He was kicked out because someone asked for it but Hades, apparently, was scarier, so his old professors gave him private sessions. It’s like I noticed before — they seem to look out for each other much more than you would for your partner in crime. It’s family, yet not the one you hate and dream of getting away from. It’s real. They’re real, and they’re genuine, and I keep running into this one simple thing — they love each other. It’s strange._

_I like his style. You wouldn’t think that this guy would be a major part of a huge gang, what with the bright hair, and his guitar skills and kind smile, but he is, and he fits. I wish I could crack the secret of how they do it. Fit into the city that feels like it was belched from the fire pits, put on this Earth as a reminder that your sins shall not be forgiven — they’ll just come back and take on the form of the bricks and wood, building around you to trap you forever in their stone grip._

_I wish I could talk to Lee Taeyong like one would to a friend. He’s been broken a few times over, but he just stitches himself over and keeps walking. I could use a lesson in that._

It doesn’t end there. There are dozens of pages, notes after notes, all of them dated with different days, stretching from the end of May and all the way to August — and then they stop.

Jimin looks up, his vision blurred, to see Taeyong look at him like he would at a stranger, disbelief and confusion written all over him. Jimin feels his lips tremble.

“I swear I don’t know what this is,” he whispers hoarsely, the file in his hand feeling like dead weight. “I don’t remember ever writing this, I didn’t even know you before we met in the alley, Tae, I swear.”

He suddenly thinks about the day he fell into the trance when Taeyong held his hand and asked Jungwoo to help him, his worry for Jimin across his skin, his mind set on getting whatever was plaguing Jimin’s mind out. Jimin realized they were friends, then. He’s not so sure now.

Taeyong steps away, rubbing his face, his Adam’s apple bobbing as his eyes wander the room, his mind trying to collect itself.

“It’s not the only file,” Kibum says, and Jimin jerks his head to look at him. He catches a glimpse of Jungkook, neither his face nor his emotions telling him anything. Kook is staring at the file, his jaw clenched. “There are dozens of them. On all of us, even on fucking Zeus!”

Jimin shakes his head, refusing to believe it. It’s a mistake, a setup, another fucking curse, it can’t be.

“Months worth of research,” Minho says quietly. He doesn’t look as accusing as Kibum, but there’s something sad about him. “Folders upon folders. Not as much on Olympus, the majority is about the Underworld and Poseidon’s people. The biggest folder is…”

“Ares.” It’s Jungkook, his voice hollow and cold as he voices his guess. Jimin hugs himself, still shaking his head as he sees Minho nod.

“You’ve been spying on us for months,” Kibum says, stepping forward and pointing a finger at Jimin in accusation. “Gathering information, writing it all down. For what? Did you want to sell it to someone?”

“No, I have no idea what you’re—” Jimin murmurs, grey claws of panic gripping at his mind, making him question everything he knows and remembers.

Memory. His memory is not to be trusted. It was one thing not to remember one Halloween night, but now it’s different, now it’s months of shit he can’t recall, a huge fake vail of fabricated memories in his head, covering the shocking truth of his past.

He can’t remember. Why can’t he remember?

“Then what?” Kibum keeps pressing, and Jimin can’t breathe, he can’t open his mouth. “And what were you hoping to achieve, locking it all up and then having me uncover it?”

Jimin is suffocating, and Kibum’s anger is flying off of him like fire, and he’s scared, he’s so scared, he feels cornered like an animal before a predator, begging for its survival instincts to kick in and lash out before he’s consumed.

“You thought that’s gonna be a good alibi?” Kibum seethes, and Minho is trying to calm him down, but Jimin feels his motivation — fear for his family, desire to protect no matter what, wish to eliminate the threat now that he has it before him. “Does Yoongi know who exactly he dragged into our world?”

“That’s enough!” Jungkook yells, gripping Kibum’s arm and dragging him away from Jimin, and he finally backs off, his chest heaving, but it’s too late.

Jimin’s mind is already consumed by the thought of Yoongi seeing these files and believing it too, thinking that Jimin came here already knowing them, falling into the trap of the illusion of Jimin using them all for some undiscovered ultimate goal. He still can’t breathe, his vision blurring out, and he grips his shoulders, his nails digging into the skin.

Something is happening to his mind that feels more than a panic attack, no, it’s something stronger, something banging on his temples and screaming at him to let it in, popping his ears from how loud and aggressive it is, making his skin burn as if something is trying to get out of his veins, clean his bloodstream, drain him of everything he has inside and put something else inside, and he falls to his knees, feeling Taeyong’s hands on him; no, Taeyong’s energy — the silver warm presence, the soothing music that reaches out to him to calm his anxious mind but it doesn’t work, it’s wrong, it’s not right, and he screams something, and the hands disappear.

He feels like he’s floating in the ocean of fear and loneliness, all the fight leaving his limbs but leaving his muscles flexed, his entire body feeling too relaxed and too tight at the same time. His lungs burn and don’t work properly, and he’s cold, so fucking cold and scared and alone, and there isn’t a room around him anymore, just a grey void of despair, and the words keep ringing in his head.

_Does Yoongi know who exactly he dragged into our world?_

It makes him even more scared, it makes him even more terrified of what he doesn’t remember, because he cannot even allow a thought of Yoongi looking at him like Taeyong did — confused and hurt and betrayed, and he can’t allow it, he can’t imagine it, he can’t handle being someone Yoongi hates.

He doesn’t feel anything but suffocation.

“Breathe.”

It’s Ares, he knows it, his armor hard against Jimin’s side, his hands on his neck, and he wants to look at him, to see him once again inside his soul, to look for a light that he _knows_ , but his body is stiff, and he _still can’t breathe._

“Breathe for me, baby.”

He wants to close his eyes, but it’s pointless because the grey nothing is everywhere, the cold will still be there when he opens them, and the terror from what he doesn’t even remember he’s done chasing him into reality, and he sobs, refusing to let go and go back. How can he breathe?

“You said you trust me.” It’s a whisper, and he feels someone’s breath on his neck, and it’s the only warm thing here, and he reaches out to it, trying to grab it and plead it to touch him and make the cold go away. “Trust me enough to come back, Jiminnie.”

He feels it now, finally does — hands in his hair, lips on his temple, someone warm and familiar and loved under his arms, and he feels his body coming back, the pain in his lungs subsiding, and he thinks he almost remembers why he needs to go back.

“I’ll do the rest for you, sunshine,” _he_ says, and Jimin listens hungrily for every syllable. “I’ll do the rest. Just breathe.”

And he believes it, and he finally opens his mouth and takes a breath, and his lungs finally start working, and it keeps getting warmer, and he presses closer to his source of warmth, reaching out with his soul and wrapping it tighter around the man who holds him close and asks him to breathe.

He does. He breathes.

“Perfect, baby,” he says, and Jimin almost laughs from relief, his world finally becoming right, straightening up, held up by the steady grip of Yoongi’s hand on Jimin’s neck.

He opens his eyes, the remnants of the panic attack still clawing at his mind, but all it takes to finally chase it away is looking up and meeting Yoongi’s eyes. They’re warm and full of something that Jimin imagines would be colored purple if he was to ever try and draw it. Breathing comes easily now.

Yoongi’s face is right there, inches away, and Jimin feels like it’s how it would look before they kiss.

“What do you think you’re doing, m?” Yoongi murmurs, stroking Jimin’s face with a soft smile. “Running around having panic attacks while I’m out cold? Rude.”

Jimin can’t help it — he laughs, relieved and happy as he presses his face into Yoongi’s shoulder, all the worries for a second distant. He lets himself bask in the happiness of being so close to Yoongi and having him awake.

The reality catches up to him fast in the form of Kibum’s voice, loud as it’s saying something to Jungkook. Jimin frowns, looking over Yoongi’s shoulder as he helps them both stand up.

“I just want to know how the fuck he got the information,” Kibum says, but the anger from before isn’t there anymore. Jimin’s own feelings are still too raw and sensitive, but he senses that Iris is confused and… Guilty.

“He doesn’t know,” Yoongi says evenly, and Jimin enjoys feeling the ramble of his voice in his chest with his hand placed upon it. He notices that Yoongi is wearing a crumpled old shirt, his stitches visible under the worn-out white material. He feels Yoongi’s left hand wrapped securely around his waist, weak but firm, and he realizes that it’s the one Yoongi broke in the fall as he feels the cast hard against his skin. He wants to get away not to let Yoongi put pressure on it, but the grip is too tight. Protective. “You can see it on his face, Kibum, and I know you’re scared, but you’re not stupid.”

“Jimin has memory troubles,” Taeyong says evenly. Jimin looks at him hesitantly, but there’s no accusation or distrust there. Only kindness. “We’re working on recovering them, but it seems we didn’t quite realize the true scope of it.”

“That’s terrible.”

Jimin looks at Minho, his face concerned and intrigued. “I apologize, Jimin. Kibum didn’t mean to accuse you of anything. He’s too stubborn to admit it, but he regrets his reaction.”

Kibum huffs but he still doesn’t look their way, his gaze fixed on Jungkook’s shoulder. The man himself is focused on the papers, his eyes running over the lines.

“How are you so sure that he’s not faking?” Kibum murmurs but there’s no real anger there. Minho’s right. He’s stubborn.

“Because I trust him.”

Jimin feels his mind jolt to a stop. Some part of it expected Yoongi to have said it, but he knows it wasn’t.

It’s Jungkook. He’s still looking at the file, but there’s no doubt the words came from him. He looks up and at Jimin, his face calm, but there’s something in his eyes that reminds Jimin about the thought he had what seems like an eternity ago.

_Loving Taehyung means trusting Jungkook._

It works both ways, then.

He suddenly feels too much, afraid of spiraling again, but there’s a grounding presence near him, and he hides his face in Yoongi’s shoulder again, no longer caring what people might think, no longer caring what it makes him feel — just knowing that he’s safe.

“I know Jimin is innocent,” Yoongi says, and Jimin syncs his own thoughts to the sound of his voice. As long as he’s here, it’s safe. “I know.”

X

Jimin finds it hard to untangle himself from Yoongi when Kibum and Minho leave, but one warning look from a fairly pissed off Taeyong makes him back off, his eyes cast down. He watches as Yoongi’s body goes slack on the couch, the adrenaline leaving his bloodstream.

Yoongi’s eyes are closed, his forehead covered in sweat, his breathing heavy. Jimin sits on the other end of the couch, hugging his knees, watching in worry how Taeyong changes the bandages on his stomach. His hand is limp near him, his fingers puffy. Jimin wants to reach out and hold them, but he’s still slightly afraid to get close to Taeyong.

Taehyung arrives around the time Taeyong finishes up his chastising speech, tying the gauze to keep it tight and close.

Jungkook doesn’t let Tae get close to the couch, taking him by the arm and bringing him up to speed in a harsh whisper. Jimin feels Taehyung’s gaze on him as he listens to Kook lay out the events of the past hour, but he can’t tear his own away from Yoongi’s exhausted face. He imagines him waking up alone in a dark room and wondering why nobody is here with him, and dressing and going down only to find Jimin a choking mess on the floor. He hides his face behind his knees, feeling how it gets hot from embarrassment. He curses his mind for betraying him and letting him succumb into panic when so many people were watching him, witnessing how weak and pathetic he is, how he can’t hold himself together — crumbling the second there’s pressure.

He grits his teeth to keep from screaming.

There’s a hand on his arm, and he looks up tentatively, surprised when he sees Taeyong’s eyes. There’s no anger there, and it’s strange. The folder with the Orpheus file is in Taehyung’s hands now. Minho promised to transfer the rest later in the day, and Jimin remembers the way he looked at him — with confusion and pity.

“How are you feeling?” Taeyong asks softly, looking intently into Jimin’s eyes. He pulls out a flashlight and checks his pupils, his lips pressed together in worry. “Dizzy? Need some water?”

“I’m fine,” Jimin lies easily even though his mouth is dry, and he’s content on sticking with that lie until he looks over Taeyong’s shoulder and meets Yoongi’s eyes, his head on the back of the couch, his gaze tired but judgmental. Jimin sighs and looks back on Taeyong. “I’ll have some water, though.”

Tae nods and leaves to get a glass from the small table on the other end of the room. Yoongi is still looking at him, his face unreadable, and Jimin physically feels the pull. He clutches his legs harder to fight it off, but all it takes for Yoongi is a slight twitch of the eyebrow, and Jimin moves closer until he’s tucked into his side, carefully putting his head on Yoongi’s shoulder, mindful of his stitches. He feels Yoongi’s right hand wrap around his waist protectively and allows himself another weakness.

Yoongi seems to affect him in a way he never thought possible. But it feels better. It’s better next to him.

“So I’m guessing our little secret is out?” Yoongi croaks out, and the others come closer, Taeyong giving both of them water. Yoongi can’t take it, so Jimin puts it to his lips, helping him take a few sips.

He catches the look on Taehyung’s face as he puts the glass away after drinking himself, but he purposefully ignores it.

_Like I don’t know myself._

“I kinda forced it out of Jungkook,” he confesses, scrunching up his nose. “I came here to ask for help. I had a little secret of my own.”

There’s silence, and he takes a deep breath, feeling an encouraging squeeze of Yoongi’s fingers on his waist. He swallows.

“I seem to have lost most of my memories for the past ten months or so,” he starts, his gaze drawn to the file Taehyung is clutching. “I thought I only forgot Halloween, but this file... And dozens of others, according to Kibum... They’re written by me. That’s my handwriting.” He looks up at Taeyong, feeling so much guilt that he doesn’t know how to deal with it, the words getting stuck in his throat. “But I swear I don’t have a single memory of making those notes or investigating you. Fuck, there’s even a picture, meaning I stalked you, and it’s not like me, I don’t... I’m curious and like detecting shit, but I don’t know what moved me to go to such extremes.”

Taehyung sits down next to him, wrapping his hands around his shoulders and sighing softly into his hair.

“We believe you, baby,” he murmurs. “But it still happened. And we need to find out what that ‘it’ is.”

Jimin can’t look away from Taeyong.

“Taeyong,” he calls out, frowning to keep himself from crying. Fuck, his mind is too weakened for this.

Orpheus looks at him, his eyebrows slightly raised, and even though his eyes aren’t cold, Jimin still has to look really close to find the kindness he’s used to seeing there.

“I’m not mad at you, Jimin,” Taeyong says softly, but there’s something around him, something unpleasant, colored grey and blue. “I’m just confused.”

Jungkook tilts his head, nodding slightly. It seems they’re on the same track of thoughts, but it’s the one still escaping Jimin.

Taeyong opens the folder and flips a few pages, stopping on a passage somewhere in the middle.

 _”I wish they could accept me,”_ he reads aloud, and Jimin feels his heart stop. _”They seem to function like a mechanism that never stops. Even if a gear falls out, they immediately replace it with another one without any damage to the production. They’re an unstoppable force, yet they don’t seem to move farther than the places they already have. If Olympus obsesses over every piece of land, the Underworld never wishes to bite off more than they can chew. Hell, they could chew this entire city and spit it out yet they choose not to. They have enough. They have their place, and they know it. Today, I saw Taeyong play his guitar in the street with some kids, the ones Yoongi helped to set up the instruments the other day. He’s good. Truly, an Orpheus. When I listened to his music, I felt the peace I thought I’d never know again after mom died. I wish I could feel that peace every day. I wish I could tear away from the claws of the city and become its part rather than its fuel. I wish they could accept me. I wish my soul was enough. I wish I were not consumed by the obsession of belonging to something so much, not having anything else to bring to the table. I can’t contribute anything, and I can never be part of them. All I can do is watch them and hope that one day the gear similar to me falls off so I can take its place. Hope that one day I can belong with the Underworld.”_

It’s dead silent, Taeyong’s voice ringing in Jimin’s head.

He wanted it. He wanted to be part of them. He wanted the thing he fought all these weeks. He envied their connection and bond, he saw them from afar and craved to be one of them. Only a few months ago, he wanted to be part of the Underworld. Yet one morning he woke up thinking that it’s the last place he wants to end up in.

Taehyung stands up to look over Taeyong’s shoulder and read the lines himself.

“Fuel...” Jungkook murmurs. It breaks the silence, and everybody looks at him. “Why did you say fuel?”

Jimin blinks, taken aback. That is what Kook chose to memorize out of that whole passage? He breathes out, trying to sort his thoughts.

“Don’t ask me,” he murmurs. “I don’t even...”

The memory crashes into his brain so hard that he stutters, unable to finish the sentence.

Dark night, barely-lit overhead lanterns, the tell-tale sounds of the party nearby. December air and someone’s hand on his. Raspy voice, seemingly humorous but too dark to be joking.

_”It’s a machine, Jimin, and the people are its fuel. And the few sides that it has are constantly fighting for that fuel to power whatever part of the machine they’re in charge of. I’d prefer you use my offer and stay on the good side than go looking for extra cash from, I don’t know, the Underworld.”_

He feels all the air leave him, his lungs freezing as if someone threw him into an ocean in the middle of the winter. He gasps, his eyes wide as he looks at Taehyung.

“That’s what Tony said,” he chokes out. “He said that the city is a machine, and the people are its fuel. The night we met.”

“The night you think you met,” Taeyong corrects him, his jaw clenched.

“Yeah, about that,” Yoongi finally raises his voice, a fake-innocent expression on his face. “Can I finally stab that bitch?”

Jimin snaps his head to look at him with an agitated frown.

“Stay put, you damn idiot,” he grits out. “I’ll deal with it on my own while you learn to be more careful. You almost fucking died, Yoongi.”

The man has the audacity to roll his eyes, and Jimin almost slaps him before he remembers it’ll only rip his stitches. He wishes he could at least pinch him but the possibility to hurt him more is too real, so he just stares, anger in his veins.

“It’s the job.” Yoongi shrugs, not a trace of regret on his face. “And you know that.”

“Is being a careless dumbass also a part of the job?” Jimin screeches, pulling away to look at his face properly. “You should’ve seen your state! You almost died, for fuck’s sake.”

“ _Almost_ ,” Yoongi enunciates with a smug face. “And I wasn’t careless, I was wearing a vest.”

“You fell out the window, you failure of a human being!” Jimin feels like he’s overreacting, and there are other things that demand his attention but all the days of worrying and complaining to Yoongi’s unconscious body have taken their toll on him, and it feels nice to finally say it to the man’s face. “That’s like peak dumbassery!”

“D— I was shot!” Yoongi almost yells, his face offended. “Not my fault there was a window behind me!”

“Not your fault—” Jimin sputters, laughing sarcastically. “Always do the fucking recon when you enter a hostile environment! You just stood in front of a fucking window like a fool!”

“The bitch was bleeding out and barely holding her gun,” Yoongi grits out, an expression of a pouting and fairly pissed off child on his face. “How was I supposed to know the other one will show up and shoot me?”

“Well, _it’s the job_ , isn’t it?” Jimin mimics him with a mocking tone and watches with grim satisfaction how Yoongi’s jaw tightens, his patience coming to an end.

“Oh gods, _why are you so annoying_?!” He groans, throwing his head back and pleading to the heavens. “And I was wondering why it felt so weird when I woke up in total silence. It was because you weren’t there being a little bitch.”

Jimin feels shock go through him, offended beyond belief.

(And if something inside of him finally relaxes when he hears the familiar sound of Yoongi being on the verge of beating his ass for being obnoxious, nobody will ever know.)

“No, it was quiet because your ass was lying down and couldn’t possibly find another shit to get itself in the middle of,” he seethes, his arms crossed on his chest.

“Why are you being so…” Yoongi grits out but stops himself, clenching his jaw. “I showed up with a bruise on half my back a week ago, and you didn’t even bat an eye. What changed? You _know_ who I am and what I do.”

Jimin breathes out through his nose, looking away. He remembers that bruise. He didn’t notice it at first, pressing close to Yoongi in an already-familiar manner under cover of the night, but it was hard to miss in the morning as Yoongi was sitting on the edge of the bed with his back turned. He remembers tracing his fingers on its outlines but staying silent. He feels his eyes sting and hates himself a little more.

“This time, I actually saw you almost die,” he whispers, his lips pressing together as soon as the sound comes out. “This time, I didn’t know if you’re going to open your eyes. So fucking sue me for worrying that I’ll never get to annoy the hell out of you again because you’re going to be dead.”

Yoongi is silent, but after a few seconds, there’s a hand on his waist, bringing him closer again. He looks up in time to see the warmest look in Yoongi’s eyes, the barely visible smile in the corners of his lips. He swallows, refusing to be affected by their closeness.

“I wouldn’t leave without saying goodbye,” Yoongi murmurs, just for him, just for them. “I’ll always come back for you.”

“To drag me with you to the grave?” Jimin chuckles darkly, but there’s no more fury in him now. Just something new. Something old. Something Yoongi.

“No, you idiot, to stay by your side and make sure you don’t stab yourself on a table corner or something.” His voice is soft and mocking, and Jimin slaps him lightly on the shoulder after all. “You’re funny.”

“I’m angry, fuck off,” Jimin retaliates, making his face look as badass as he can. “One day I’ll get my near-death experience too, and then you’ll know.”

“Nah, I’ll kick your ass if you die.” Jimin looks up at his eyes to see that he looks humored but serious. “Besides, I don’t think I’ll get rid of you anyway. You’ll come back as a ghost to haunt me and keep judging my fashion choices.”

Jimin can’t help it — he laughs, genuinely and freely for the first time in days, his eyes disappearing, his palms going to his mouth to cover it. Yoongi is smiling barely noticeable, his cheeks rosy — a long-awaited contrast to his pale skin.

“Well, you do have a rather boring aesthetic.” He chuckles, tilting his head.

This is good. This is nice. This is more than he’s used to, but it’s a natural progression, the upgrade he needed to feel sane. His feelings are not moving too fast. They’re just moving in sync.

“It didn’t look too boring when you stole it for your party outfit,” Yoongi murmurs innocently, and Jimin feels his eyes widen in offense. Was he that obvious? “Just saying.”

“Did not,” Jimin says breathlessly, feeling blood rush to his cheeks. Yoongi snickers.

“You looked amazing, though,” he notes, biting his lips.

“Thanks,” Jimin whispers, covering his cheek with his palm. It feels warm beyond his wish.

“Not to interrupt this fascinating k-drama, but we have some pressing matters to attend to.”

Jimin blinks rapidly as he turns around, having completely forgotten they’re not alone here. He sees Taeyong, Taehyung, and Jungkook look at them with similar dumbfounded yet amused expressions. They’re smiling slightly, some inside joke between them that Jimin isn’t sure he wants to know. He puts on a serious expression.

“Okay, Tony,” he breathes out, a bitter taste on his tongue at the name of his boyfriend.

Shit, even thinking it makes him want to vomit now. Some part of him is still wondering as to what happened to change his feelings, but as he leans into the warmth of Yoongi’s fingers on his ribs, he thinks he might be finally close to finding the answer.

“He knows much more than he lets on,” he says, frowning and pressing his lips together. “I’m meeting him on Saturday. I’ll ask him about all the shit he kept from me.”

“I don’t think that’s a great idea,” Taeyong says softly, and Jimin looks up at him, startled. Taeyong’s face is detached and unreadable. “You wanted to be one of us, Jimin. You studied us, cracked our codes, learned our connections. But for some reason, you still didn’t approach us. You were waiting for something. And then you got interrupted by something. Or someone.”

Jimin looks down on his lap, kneading his palms. If only he knew. If only he remembered what moved him to do the things he did.

“The records stop on August 28th,” Taehyung says quietly, his gaze still locked on the file. He frowns and looks up, his lips pressed into a thin line. “That’s the day we met Tony. For real.”

Jimin swallows and makes himself stand up, his mind too entangled in the feeling of Yoongi being so close. It feels nice and grounding, but it’s also one of the things he has to deal with before he loses his mind.

He rubs his chest, calming his anxiety, and takes the file. His hands are still shaking, and it seems like no amount of coping mechanisms will make it go away. Alright. One thing at a time.

He flips through the pages, trying not to focus too much on the content, and gets to the last entry. This one seems like it was written in haste, the letters racing each other to fit on the dirty page, and it doesn’t look like it belongs in the folder. The page is ripped out from another notebook. It feels dump and some sentences are too blurry to make out, but he gets the general gist of it.

“ _Someone is onto me,_ ” he reads shakily. “ _Dad came back tonight, and he was supposed to be better. But it doesn’t look like they helped his illness, it just looks like they pushed it so deep inside of him he doesn’t even remember it’s there anymore. I don’t know if it’s that good. He looks normal but numb. Like he’s functioning but not living. I asked him why he didn’t send for me to pick him up, but he said he got a ride from some ‘nice people.’ I don’t trust it. I think those are the same people I’ve noticed following me around. For some reason, I’m not scared for my life, but I am afraid I don’t get to finish what I started on time. I’m almost there, almost cracked the puzzle. I don’t have enough to go to Hades yet, but I think Yoongi will listen to me. If not him, then Orpheus. He seems more approachable than others. Ideally, I want it to be Yoongi — I want him to be the first one to look at me, this time not just in passing, and accept me. Shit, I_ need _it to be Yoongi, otherwise, I'm dead meat. But for now, and with things as they are now, I’ll take what I can get. Otherwise, it’s not only my life at danger, but my dad’s and Taehyung’s. Dad is already entangled in it, but I still have a chance to get Taehyung to take the side we need. The war is coming, I feel it, and we need to be protected, and the only people who can do that are the Underworld._

_I need to talk to Yoongi. Tonight. Some seniors are having a party near the Underworld block, and Taehyung wants to go. I’m sure I’ll be able to sneak away and find him. I seem to be running into him randomly, anyway, I’m sure I’ll meet him now that I actually need to._

_So yeah. Tonight. This will all be over tonight. It’s do or die. Tell the truth or perish with the city because I didn’t warn the right people in time.”_

“And then we went to the party,” Taehyung recounts, chewing on his lip. “And I swear you were by my side all the time except like ten minutes when you disappeared and came back looking weird. You didn’t say what happened, but a few days later you introduced me to Tony.”

Jimin stares at him, suddenly realizing something that makes him want to choke himself. He feels something bitter on his tongue and looks down.

“I’ve been lying to you for months,” he confesses quietly, feeling like shit even if it’s news to him too. “You thought I was with my dad, but it’s obvious I stayed in the city.”

Taehyung raises his eyebrow and blinks a few times as if the thought didn’t occur to him, but then he sighs and comes closer, hugging Jimin tight and cooing into his hair.

“You obviously thought you were protecting me,” he says warmly, and Jimin feels like an asshole because Tae does this every time — justifies him, finds excuses to forgive him, and just wait patiently for Jimin’s heart to catch up to his dumbass brain. It’s an amazing quality in a friend, but it’s annoying how much Jimin doesn’t deserve to be on the receiving end of it. “I mean, I’m kinda mad you didn’t trust me enough to tell me right away, but I get your motivation. And I know you’d say something sooner or later. You suck at keeping secrets.” He leans back to look Jimin in the eyes, and it hits him not-so-suddenly — Taehyung is much more mature than Jimin is. He always knew Tae is a lot wiser and smarter than he appears but every time seems like a revelation. “Or well, you’re very good at keeping secrets. But I still believe you would’ve told me.”

He pats his cheek and looks back at the file. Jimin takes a deep breath and turns to Taeyong but not before catching a glimpse of Yoongi to make sure he’s okay. The man is slack on the couch, but his gaze is sharp, his face serious and collected, his eyes never leaving Jimin.

“Do you notice something off about these notes?” He asks Taeyong, hoping to mend something he doesn’t think is fully broken. It’s strange — to be so attached to so many people, because his social circle was always limited to Taehyung and his dad, but now it seems that he has a whole bunch of accidental friends he seems to care for more than he could imagine a few weeks ago.

“Apart from the fact they describe all our lives in detail and seem to have been taken by a stalker?” Taeyong snorts, and Jimin looks down in shame until he hears Tae breathe out in frustration. “Shit, I’m sorry, I promise I’m not mad at you.”

Jimin looks up hopefully, feeling his pride taking a hit because of him looking like a kicked puppy, and sees Taeyong smile tightly.

“You were obviously working on figuring out some threat,” he breathes out, shrugging. “You wanted to have all the information before you came to us with it. I can relate to that.”

There’s something there, something more than just hypothetical understanding of Jimin’s decisions, and he wonders if they have more in common than he thinks as he looks at the resigned look on Taeyong’s face and that grey color that Jimin still can faintly see around him. Jungkook comes into his line of vision, and Jimin watches how grey paints with something glowing. He blinks. He wishes he could decipher what these things mean. He wishes he knew for sure if that’s something supernatural or just his own delusion, the illness he inherited from his deranged father.

“You call us by the nicknames,” Jungkook notes, pointing at the papers. “Almost every time you mention us. I’m assuming a few of these notes don’t belong to the folder, because in Taeyong’s file, you call him by his name. But in these pages…” He gestures to the one Jimin is still holding, the one he just read out loud. “They seem taken from your personal journal. And there, you use mostly nicknames. Except for one.”

Jimin clenches his jaw, knowing where this is going, and feeling something akin to terror go through his bones.

It’s not fear, though. It’s something more like embarrassment.

“So,” Yoongi says from the couch before clearing his throat. “You seemed to have a particular attachment to me.”

“Shut up,” Jimin mumbles, his face heating up. Gods, this is humiliating.

“Hey, I don’t blame you,” Yoongi chuckles as he stands up, grunting from the pain. A major part of Jimin wants to help him, but the petty one, the one dominating the majority of his life choices, decides to leave him be. Yoongi comes closer, his hand on the stitches on his abdomen. “I’m awesome. I’d have a crush on me too.”

“ _I didn’t have a crush on you_ ,” Jimin grits out, avoiding meeting his eyes.

“How do you know?” Jimin can _feel_ the bitch smirking. Gods. He hates him. He really does. “You don’t remember anything.”

“Thanks for the reminder,” he seethes, finally looking up at Yoongi only to realize he can’t stay mad at him when there’s finally a smile on his face and some light in his eyes. If making jokes at Jimin’s expense is what brings his usual vibe back, it’s okay.

“All I’m saying is you seemed to have an interest in Yoongi,” Jungkook notes, and Jimin looks at him in annoyance. He can be bitter on him instead of Yoongi, that’s a nice option. Kook raises his hands defensively. “Deny it all you want, it was there. And it means that we can narrow down our investigative plans. Maybe, Yoongi can even remember you. You write that you bumped into him a few times.”

Jimin sighs, crumpling the note in his hand. That’s true. And it feels like the truth — in every look he throws Yoongi’s way. It seems real.

He’s still not admitting the crush thing. No matter how much it’s glowing in the words written by him at some point he can’t recall.

“Well,” Yoongi breathes out, his brow furrowed in thought. “It seemed like I knew you when you first came here all those weeks ago, you know?”

“Chim, you even asked him if you two met,” Taehyung supplies. “And Yoongi said he wouldn’t forget such beauty or some shit like that.”

“Yeah, that was annoying,” Jimin notes with lips pursed, enjoying the way Yoongi immediately looks down. Who’s embarrassed now, eh?

“You were hot, I was taken aback,” he mumbles, shrugging and not looking ashamed in the slightest. It feels flattering.

Only then does it dawn on Jimin what he just said. He blinks, jerking his head to look at the wall, his eyes round, and his mind frozen.

Did Yoongi just openly call him hot? Did Jimin actually like it? There’s silence in the room, and he physically feels the terror coming from Yoongi, not too different from one Jimin himself was feeling a few minutes ago.

Well. This is awkward.

It’s fun to imagine and assume things — to try and analyze things Yoongi says in passing, looks he throws over his shoulder, fleeting smiles he sends his way — because those were just guesses and secret wishes. But this one is real. This is Yoongi opening his damn goth mouth and saying he found Jimin hot.

He’d expect himself to be annoyed. Because that’s how it feels every time people notice his appearance first and feel like it’s all Jimin wants to hear — how pretty he is. He’s perfectly aware of it, and he’s not above using it from time to time, but it still feels sickening when they look at him and notice his face first. It’s how he reacted, too, when Yoongi said it all that time ago — uncomfortable, annoyed.

It feels different now. Yoongi knows him now, probably better than Jimin knows himself, and him saying these things feels actually nice, genuine for the first time in forever.

If they knew each other before talking in that alley, maybe he would’ve reacted differently. Maybe, he wouldn’t have jumped to conclusions and actually listened to what Yoongi had to say apart from calling him beautiful.

A memory hits him again, and he snaps his head up to look at Yoongi who seems to be reading his thoughts. There’s a similar expression on his face, and Jimin just _knows_ they’re remembering the same thing.

There was a lot said that night, but one phrase stands out in particular, one thing that Yoongi whispered before they were interrupted by Taeil.

_**”You're funny,” Ares says. He wipes at his lips; Jimin wants to split them.** _

_**“I'm angry,” he retaliates, but it sounds weak now that the darkness is stepping away, taking the flames inside of him with it.** _

_**“Figures,” Ares steps even closer, and now Jimin feels his breath on his cheek. He leans closer, his hair brushing Jimin's skin, his lips near his ear. “You…** _

“ _You broke your promise, beautiful,_ ” they say in unison, looking at each other in shock, and Jimin grabs his arm, his mind in a frenzy.

“Why did you say it?” He asks breathlessly, almost excited. “What promise?”

Yoongi is looking at him with a similar shock in his eyes, his lips moving soundlessly.

“I don’t know,” he finally mumbles. “I just remember seeing you and having this… This feeling about you. Like I knew you from somewhere important. And then it felt right to say it, even if I didn’t know why.”

They keep staring at each other, and Jimin hears Taeyong groan.

“Don’t tell me you lost your memories too.” He sounds tired and exasperated, his hands rubbing his face. “I don’t know how to deal with all this shit, honestly.”

“No, wait!” Yoongi is suddenly all motion, turning to the others with a hopeful face, his lips breaking out into a smile. “It makes sense! If Jimin wanted to find me and tell me something, he probably did. He’s stubborn as fuck. It’s annoying, but it’s true.”

“Hey!” Jimin pouts a little and turns to the others. “I mean, he’s not wrong.”

“Yeah, and it doesn’t seem plausible that you spent so much time watching us and wasn’t noticed once,” Kook weighs in, rubbing his lips. “You may be sneaky, but we’re a fucking gang. Someone must have noticed you.”

“Wouldn’t they report him?” Taehyung frowns, massaging his neck. “I doubt someone would notice a guy following the gang around and thought it’d be funny to keep it a secret.”

Taeyong takes a deep sigh, breathing out in frustration.

“Nobody would pay him attention if we were busy,” he starts, pursing his lips. It’s obvious he already knows the answer but wants them to figure it all out on their own. “If, say, we had people from other cities over, and there were dozens of other people running around, with our guards having orders not to intercept.”

There’s a confused silence for a moment, but then Yoongi and Jungkook groan in unison, rubbing their faces just like Taeyong did a moment ago. Jimin exchanges a confused glance with Tae to make sure he’s not the only one out of the loop.

“What is going on?” Taehyung asks tentatively, and Jimin thinks that it’s really becoming the question of the hour.

“We installed the new security system during the summer,” Jungkook explains, turning to them with a grave expression. “Auntie was here with Louis and his husband. We thought we’d have a family reunion since their people were the ones working on securing the hotel.”

“They alternated between the Underworld and the Olympus,” Yoongi recalls with a sigh. “I didn’t tell you this, but Namjoon was always her favorite, even if it meant she spends more times judging his choices than pampering him. Basically, they were always somewhere in the city.”

“They spent like six weeks here,” Taeyong says, his lips pursed. “Brought a lot of guards with them because Louis and Harry had their kid with them. And those guards obviously were always around on the streets. And after they left, Richard had some shit going down and asked if he could lay low at ours.”

“I obviously agreed, he’s a friend.” Jungkook rubs his shoulder, his look faraway. “He had a few people with him, too, but it was a huge secret that he’s here, so they didn’t live on the territory. They were stationed across town, and even some of our people didn’t know how they looked like.”

“I hated it, but it had to be done,” Yoongi recounts with a frown. “We had all the out-of-towners wear these… Symbols. So that my people knew they’re legit and didn’t interfere.”

“What symbols?” Jimin blinks.

Taeyong comes closer to him with another deep sigh and takes his wrist, holding it up and pointing to a faded knitted stripe. Jimin stares.

“ _Friendship bracelets?_ ” Taehyung asks incredulously, almost screeching, and Jimin can relate.

“Harry came up with it,” Yoongi explains sheepishly. “And it only means friendship to you. We just had everyone wear these knitted bracelet thingies of different colors. Red meant us, green were Louis’, then blue for Richard’s.”

Jimin looks at the bracelets Taehyung,and he are wearing. Red and silver with touches of blue and green. Well.

“That’s a fortunate coincidence,” Taehyung mumbles, taken aback. “We made them because we identified as Gryffindor and Slytherin.”

Jimin hears Taeyong chuckle gravely. Yeah, because it’s definitely amusing.

“All right, so that’s a dead end,” Yoongi says, deflating. “Coincidental as all hell, but with how a lot of shit is coming together lately, I’ll take it.”

“Still doesn’t cancel out the fact that you two definitely met,” Kook notes, gesturing between Jimin and Yoongi. “And managed to make some kind of promise.”

Jimin rubs his temples, a headache taking over. Shit, this is getting far more complicated than what he expected when he came down here to ask Jungkook for help.

“Let’s just round up the facts we have,” he proposes, keeping his voice low. He feels nauseous, the pain getting stronger by the second. “I lost memories of almost a year, but it was selective. I remember everything apart from things connected to the Underworld. Somewhere in May, if we believe my notes, I started… Stalking you. Nobody from your people touched me because I managed to blend in without trying. It went on until August, when I met Tony and stopped my Nancy Drew shit.”

“I think that’s when you lost your memories for the first time,” Taehyung says quietly, and they all look up at him in surprise.

“First time?” Jimin asks almost soundlessly.

Taehyung clears his throat and stands straighter now that the attention is on him.

“You started acting really weird when we started uni,” he explains. “You spaced out a lot, always dreaded the time the classes ended, didn’t want to leave the college grounds. I thought it had something to do with your father and offered that you live with me for a while, but you started spending all your time at Tony’s.”

“What if he kept researching?” Yoongi wonders, but even he sounds doubtful.

“I called him dozens of times, and he was always with Tony.” Taehyung shakes his head and looks down, his eyes teary. “I knew something was wrong, but I didn’t do anything. I just let you hang out with that asshole. I knew you weren’t yourself, and I still…”

Jimin doesn’t let him finish, coming to him in one stride and wrapping his hands around his waist, letting him bury his face in the crook of Jimin’s neck. He strokes his back and shushes softly.

“I’m a stubborn idiot, and I was obviously under the influence of something strong,” he placates, anger filling him at the thought of what exactly Tony was giving him that made him ignore Taehyung. “You had plenty of your own shit going on.”

It takes a few minutes, soft words, and Jungkook’s hands on his back to get Taehyung to calm down, his face puffy but collected as he nods to himself. He wipes at his eyes and holds on to Kook’s hand.

“Anyway, around Halloween you started getting back to normal,” Taehyung recalls. “Tony and I never got along that well, so it took me a while to notice something was bothering him. I kept asking you why you’re still together, but it looked like you can’t even explain it to yourself, let alone someone else. But then, you found some fliers somewhere, and we went to the party here.”

“We pulled the tapes,” Taeyong reminds them. “They show you dancing and having fun until you started looking sick and left.”

“You broke up with him two days later,” Taehyung nods, and Jimin quickly does the math in his head, feeling acid coming down his threat.

“And a week later, my father attacked me,” he whispers, unblinking. “I spent a month in the hospital, and by the time I left, I already didn’t remember Tony.”

“And he used that to approach you at the party in December,” Yoongi says gravely, and Jimin looks up to see his face murderous. Not the point here but — attractive. He blinks.

It’s silent, the tension high in the air. Jimin draws a mental map of the timeline, trying to see the points where something went wrong. The party in August, and the week after Halloween. Those came before he lost his memory, and there was definitely something that triggered it. He’s still trying to wrap his head around the fact that he was brainwashed _twice_.

There’s also the fact that he wanted to join the Underworld. For some fucking reason.

“What did I want from you?” He whispers, turning to Yoongi.

Yoongi, who appears in his notes more often than the others. Who has the fattest binder on him. Who seems to be connected to Jimin in more ways than one.

“Protection?” Taeyong guesses, and it sounds right, but something is still off.

_”You’re smart, Jimin, I’ll give you that,” Kim whispers to his face. Jimin watches a bead of sweat on his neck, unable to bring himself to look the man in the eyes. “But you’re the ticking bomb. You were always quite a little sociopath, always lashing out, always obsessing, always longing for those you thought can accept you, huh?”_

“Company,” he murmurs, feeling his eyes burn. “I wanted someone who knew what I felt.”

It’s burning the inside of his mind, all those repressed memories and feelings wishing to break the hold, finally noticed and clawing their way out. He touches his chest, but his heart is calm and steady, nevermind the storm he feels inside.

Is he? A sociopath, craving to be accepted in the midst of someone alike to him? Consumed with his obsession to belong with something as dark as himself?

He looks over their faces. The faces of people everybody describe as vile monsters who never let someone go once they have them in their clutches. They don’t look like murderers and gangsters now when they’re looking at him with concern and affection, set in their ways to help him find himself again, even if it means finding out something about him that may turn them away.

Taehyung, his face open and accepting, ready to help in whatever way he can, even if it means just holding Jimin’s hand while he’s walking through the path to finding himself.

Taeyong, this kind and strong soul that has its own scars, betrayed and sad, but still ready to believe Jimin and guide him through, the Orpheus whose song resonates with Jimin’s soul. He looks tired but determined, and Jimin sees why so many people love and trust him. He sees why it took so little for Jimin himself to get attached.

Jungkook, a quiet leader who accepted Jimin openly and without lies, warning him from the very beginning — you may not like what you find. The Hades who guides with his mind, a great deal of his heart coming into making his family the strongest gang in the city. Wise, gentle Jungkook who knows more than he shows, and who always gives the right advice even when you don’t feel like you need it.

And then there’s him.

Jimin turns to him fully, taking his hand, refusing to be afraid of letting all the emotions inside his soul. Yoongi’s fingers wrap around his in a heartbeat, fitting like they were always meant to be there, and his eyes are guarded but kind, and Jimin looks in them without fear. Finally accepting him, just as he accepted Jimin when nobody believed him. Yoongi knows Jimin isn’t lying or deceiving. He knows.

“You found it,” Yoongi whispers and squeezes his hand. “And I swear we will find your memories again.”

Jimin nods, unable to speak, and turns to others, seeing the trust he places in them reflected on their faces.

“We’ll get through it, Chim,” Taeyong assures him, finally a smile on his face and not a hint of coldness in it.

“It’s time we visit Jungwoo,” Yoongi says, breaking the serene atmosphere and letting everyone know the action is starting. “I bet he already figured out those ingredients, and I want him to have a look at Jimin. He’ll see more from his mind that from some potion.”

He moves for the door, but Jimin stops in his tracks, tugging at his hand. Yoongi turns around with his eyebrows raised.

“You’re not going anywhere,” he informs him, stubbornly pursing his lips. “Not until Taeyong clears you.”

Yoongi gasps in offense, looking at Taeyong, and Jimin smiles smugly when he sees Tae shake his head with a surprised expression.

“Have you seen the state of yourself?” Taeyong screeches out, throwing his hands up in the air. “You already strained yourself too much. You need bed rest.”

“But—” Yoongi sputters, his face taking on the expression of an offended kindergartener. “But you always let me do my shit after I lie down for a day! And I’ve been asleep for, like, three.”

“I didn’t have a choice before.” Taeyong shrugs innocently. “You never stayed in bed anyway, so I just made sure your stitches hold and let you run around.”

“What changed?!”

Taeyong looks pointedly at their joint hands, and Jimin blinks, feeling a blush creep up his cheeks.

“I’m prescribing you at least three more days of rest,” Taeyong says simply with a sly smile. “You can do all you want, but good luck convincing Jimin to let you out of the room.”

Jimin turns to him with a wide smile, already coming up with the ways to annoy Yoongi while they’re locked in, nursing him back to health. Yoongi snorts, rolling his eyes.

“I’m not scared of Jimin,” he says mockingly, and that’s his mistake because Jimin already feels his brat instincts kicking in as he tilts his head to look at Yoongi pointedly.

Try me, bitch.

Yoongi swallows visibly and looks around, trying to find ways to get out of it.

“You’re not leaving that room until Taeyong says it’s okay,” Jimin informs him sweetly, moving for the door. He feels smug when Yoongi doesn’t resist and lets Jimin drag him out of the office. He hears Yoongi seethe ‘traitors’ at his friends and chuckles to himself.

“You’re not serious, right?” Yoongi asks hastily as they leave, but Jimin just smiles at him even wider, letting him guess the answer.

They leave with the sound of Yoongi whining like a child, and Taeyong snorts, turning to the others.

“Am I the only one getting the impression that they’re actually the ones about to get hitched?” He gestures to the door where the chaotic couple just left through.

Jungkook rubs his face as Tae wraps his hands around him with a placating impression. He sighs and thinks about his Chim, lost in the sea of his own mind, but finally grasping at least some resemblance of an anchor.

The files are still on him, and he presses them close to heart, dreading the hour the rest of Jimin’s notes are here for them to study. Jimin poured his mind and heart into these journals, and it’s as curious as it is terrifying to get a glimpse into the world he never knew existed in the soul of his best friend.

“This is going to be fun,” he murmurs and turns to Taeyong to ask what he can help with. He’s going to be a part of the gang soon, might as well start pulling his weight.

X

Jimin breaks on Friday morning. There’s only so much of whining, pouting, bitching Yoongi that he can take, and when he wakes up to find Yoongi on his tablet again, his face pale as he’s going over the reports _fucking again_ , he decides that he’s had enough. 

He sits up abruptly, schooling his face into the strictest expression that he can master so early in the morning, and takes the tablet away, batting Yoongi’s hand away as he reaches to grab it back with a whine. 

“No,” Jimin says angrily, locking it and putting it away. It’s hard to stay irritated when Yoongi looks incredibly adorable, his hair messy after sleep, his eyes puffy and offended, but he makes himself maintain his pissed off expression. “Have you even slept?”

Yoongi rolls his eyes and smacks his lips, crossing his arms on his chest, which, to be honest, looks ridiculous because he’s covered by the blanket that almost reaches his chin. Jimin refuses to feel endeared. 

“I swear I’m gonna smack you,” he seethes dangerously. 

“I slept!” Yoongi throws his hands in the air. “I woke up twenty minutes ago, and there was still time till your alarm, so I figured I’d work a bit.”

Jimin takes a deep breath, trying to remain collected. Right. That. Work. 

They didn’t allow Yoongi to leave the room, naturally, but he still insisted that he’s kept in the loop, much to Ten’s relief who found that being in charge of dozens of guards looks easier when Yoongi does it. They keep texting, with Yoongi monitoring everything and guiding Ten. He told Jimin he still leaves a lot of work for Ten as his protégé, but it isn’t fair to throw the guy into the middle of the action without proper preparation. And Jimin would be okay with it, honestly, if only Yoongi stuck to just advising Ten here and there. But no, the idiot went further — he’s constantly on the phone with people Jimin can’t even guess the origins of, and it definitely doesn’t fall under the category of “rest” that Jimin imagined for him. 

On the other hand, he probably would have killed Yoongi with his bare hands if the man wasn’t keeping himself busy. Because when Yoongi isn’t “working,” he’s completing his goal of driving Jimin insane. He simply cannot be a good patient that stays in bed and takes his meds on time and doesn’t annoy his nurses to a point they want to put his IV into his eye instead of his veins. Fuck, Jimin even has to force-feed him his pills, mixing them with food as he would for a dog — the fact that Yoongi doesn’t neglect to point out every time Jimin does it. Jimin says he’s more of a bitchy cat and does it anyway. 

He gets it, okay, he does. He hates staying put himself, and with Yoongi’s lifestyle — constant chase, patrolling, fighting — it’s only natural he’s itching to get back on his feet and dive into action again, but that’s what Jimin is trying to do. He wants him to get well faster and come back to being that steady presence Jimin already got used to feeling on his side. If only Yoongi wasn’t constantly complaining and driving Jimin insane. 

Jimin takes a deep breath and looks at his phone. It’s six in the morning, which is honestly blasphemous, but he needs to get up soon anyway. 

“I’ll ask Taeyong to check your state while I’m in college,” he says, not looking at Yoongi because he’s sure there’s a pout waiting for him. “And if he says it’s okay, we can go to Jungwoo after my classes.”

He hears a relieved groan and turns to looks at his pocket assassin looking like he just got ten years worth of Christmas presents. He smiles, unable to help himself. Yoongi looks at him like a well-fed cat, and Jimin quickly purses his lips. 

“Thank you, Doctor,” Yoongi purrs, and Jimin feels a jolt go through him. 

He swallows and stands up, adjusting his t-shirt on his way to the bathroom. He’s basically made himself at home here, and so he easily slips in, closing the door behind him and pressing his back to it, exhaling softly. 

The reason he’s going mad locked here with Yoongi is not just Yoongi whining to get out, even though it’s taking a considerable toll on Jimin. No. There’s also an issue. 

An issue of Yoongi figuring out Jimin is basically attracted to him in at least some form and using it shamelessly. 

Yeah. There’s that.

Jimin likes him. 

He closes his eyes firmly, expecting something like a lighting bolt, but it didn’t come the first time he realized it, and it’s not coming now. The Universe is saying that’s is not the end of the world, but Jimin can argue.

He comes to the sink, gripping its edges and looking at himself in the mirror. His face is red, haunted by the effect of Yoongi’s gruff morning voice, and he absolutely despises it for that. 

So what if he likes Yoongi? It’s not that big of a surprise, no matter how much he wishes it to be. He’s gotten attached to the man faster than he could fathom, with his feeling catching up fast as soon as the curse plaguing his mind was lifted. Yoongi is handsome. More so, he’s damn hot, especially when he’s mad — a kink Jimin is reluctant yet not that surprised to admit. He’s also smart, no matter how much he tries to dump all the “thinking” on Taeyong. He’s sharp and quick, his mind making connections way faster than Jimin can even realize they’re there. 

He always knew Yoongi is not just a dumb jock, but in the past few days, as they started going over the files Minho brought, he came to learn this particular feature of Yoongi’s. He managed to figure out how Jimin built his system — going from the figure of Ares and adding people as he saw Yoongi interact with them — before Jimin even brought himself to open one of the folders. He’s going over files fast, highlighting the things he thinks worth exploring later, set on making a list of everything there is first, and only then getting deeper into it. Jimin asked him not to open the Ares file yet, because he needs to face that himself first, and Yoongi respected that but not before making another joke about Jimin having a crush on him. 

It wouldn’t be so annoying if it weren’t true. 

He breathes out in frustration as he undresses and gets into the shower. Another good thing about occupying the building of a powerful gang — amazing water pressure. He tries to get lost in the feeling of the water on his skin, but it’s hard when the thoughts of Yoongi keep circling in his head. 

So he has a crush on Yoongi. So what? It’s logical. They spend so much time together, and he feels right. 

Yoongi. Yoongi feels right. 

He’s annoying, and he gets too controlling when he forgets Jimin isn’t the one to be ordered around, and he’s stubborn in his ways, and he can get too overprotective, and he keeps trying to tell Jimin what to do. 

But he’s also kind. He knows Jimin’s limits and never crosses them, and he pouts but stands down when Jimin pushes back, and he lets so many shit Jimin does go, and he’s smart and cunning, and he always seems to know what Jimin wants. Even when Jimin doesn’t know it himself. And he makes Jimin feel so fucking safe it feels like he’s only learned to breathe when Yoongi appeared, and his nightmares aren’t that often anymore, and he actually feels happy for the first time in his life, truly and fully, without ‘buts’ or ‘wells.’ It’s a mess right now — with his memories gone, and his relationship status maintaining a huge glowing question mark, and his college being pushed back on the list of his priorities — but he still feels disgustingly content because he’s going through all of it with people who care about him. This entire gang is something important to him now, the brass and their boyfriends taking up the lead. Hell, he’s even happy to see the guys from Yoongi’s crew nowadays, always welcoming them when they come in to check on their boss, in various groups and with various gifts (which Jimin banned after Hendery brought a grenade). He smiles when Yoongi smiles, and it’s nice but frustrating. 

It’s annoying. It’s annoying how much he feels for that little bitch on the bed. It’s annoying how he wants to keep feeling it, to know more, to dig deeper. It’s annoying how every time he effortlessly falls asleep next to him, he wishes there was something more connecting them but the weird effect that Yoongi’s presence has on Jimin’s sleeping patterns. It’s annoying how out of all the weird dreams Jimin has, he remembers only a few, and all of them are about Yoongi in not-so-innocent scenarios. 

Oh gods, he’s having sex dreams about Min Yoongi. He takes a deep breath, dropping the water temperature as he feels the memories of one particular dream nagging at his mind. _That_ shit he remembers. His memory is a traitor. 

It would just feel so fucking nice to have Yoongi’s hands on him, burning up his skin and touching him in the way that’d make him whine for more, asking to do things to him that will make him forget his name, and Yoongi would definitely be able to give Jimin exactly what he wants without Jimin even having to ask for it. He’d be gentle but strong, just the way Jimin needs him to, and his muscles would feel amazing under Jimin’s fingers as he clutched them to stay steady while he rides Yoongi, and it would feel like the best—

The sound of his alarm going off in the next room makes his eyes fly open, and he jerks back and hits the wall with his back, breathing heavily. The fuck was that?

He hears Yoongi turn off the alarm and bites his lip, closing his eyes as not to look down. He knows he’s hard, thank you very much, he doesn’t need visual confirmation of the fact he just got aroused by the thought of riding Min Yoongi’s dick. He’s a healthy gay guy, of course it happens, but the fact that makes him want to bash his head in is that Yoongi is in the next room, and the walls of the apartment might be soundproof, but the rooms aren’t — and so he’ll have to either will his erection away or take care of it extremely quietly. Which somehow makes him even more turned on. 

Oh gods. The Universe hates him, it really does, and it’s not even the fact that he’s daydreaming about another guy fucking him while he’s still technically in a relationship with someone else, no, it’s the fact that he likes it — the thought of being only Yoongi’s. The only one annoying him, the only one making his face look like it does when Jimin does something particularly weird — like eating with both his feet on the chair, his plate on his knees — and Yoongi just stares at him in wonder but with something soft and endeared on his face, and the only one getting to see the softer, grumpier side of morning Yoongi. It almost makes him want to cry — the strength of this not-so-sudden attraction. It pulls at his insides, begging for him to do something, and he wants to, he really does, but there’s still this invisible unknown wall that’s holding him back, and it’s so fucking sad yet unavoidable. 

Nothing can happen. Not yet. Not while everything else is a mess. Not when he isn’t even sure what Yoongi feels. He needs to sort everything out first, and only then allow himself to voice his feelings aloud. 

And for now, he thinks as he resigns himself to jerking off while biting his hand to keep from making any sounds, he’ll just stick to dealing with them in silence. 

///

Yoongi feels giddy. 

Yes. That’s the word. 

It’s not an unfamiliar feeling, but it’s the one he hadn’t noticed in himself in years. He looks at the entrance to the other room where the bathroom door is firmly shut between Jimin and the rest of the apartment. He’s still holding his phone, his finger on the screen where he hit the snooze button, and he feels fucking giddy over the fact that he turned off Park Jimin’s alarm — that he was here when it went off, in the bed they shared over the last few nights, the sheets still warm from Jimin’s body. 

He puts his hand on the place Jimin was lying on, feeling the warmth with his fingers. He smiles, unable to help himself and backed up by the fact nobody can see him. 

It’s nice — to be in love without the fear of someone seeing it on his face.

It doesn’t feel as much of a revelation as it did when he first looked at Jimin’s unconscious face, but it’s still just as strong, curling up inside of him, softly purring under his ribs. Loving Jimin is simultaneously the easiest and the hardest thing Yoongi has ever had to do. Because he’s insufferable, and annoying, and stubborn, and he’s torturing Yoongi with everything he does — holding onto him in his sleep and gripping his hand, and saying all those soft things when they’re covered by the darkness but then denying them when it’s light, and still being unapproachable, alien, taken. 

But he’s also the most open person Yoongi knows. He’s not sure if Jimin is always like this or he just reads him so well, but he can feel his thoughts and emotions, his fear and confusion written all over his face, his strength in the lines of his shoulders, his affection in the curve of his lips. Jimin is affectionate. He cares. He cares about them all, and he cares about Yoongi. 

He bites his lip at the thought, recounting all the times he’s caught Jimin looking at him, lost in his thoughts, or blushing as he let something slip, or smiling softly to himself after Yoongi does something endearing — and it’s so obvious it’s painful. 

Jimin likes him back. He allows the thought to settle under his ribs right next to the feelings he has himself, warming him up. He remembers his talk with Hyunggu. 

He said he isn’t afraid of Jimin falling for him, too. He is afraid of what this life can turn him into. 

“Company,” he whispers to himself, recalling the conversation in the office. 

They’re a gang. A group of criminals who murder and sell and steal to maintain their territory and power, and they get away with crimes, and they revel in the joy and strength that committing those brings them. Yoongi doesn’t enjoy killing people. He treats it as a chore, most of the time erasing it from his memory as soon as it’s done, and that’s probably alarming — the way he doesn’t care, but that’s how it is. That’s the world he grew up in, and that’s the world he learned how to live in, and that’s the world he will die in. 

But what would Jimin want to do with people like him? He’s the kindest, most gentle soul, no matter how tough he seems, and even the thought of him wanting to be apart of something dark like the Underworld is anticlimactic. Yoongi doesn’t want to allow it — yet it feels like the greatest wonder. To have Jimin by his side, a gun, or his dagger, in his hand, his smile wide under his bloody nose, the power of the Underworld brimming under his skin. It would feel amazing. But how can he take the normal life away from him? He vowed to protect his life, and by extension — his innocence, but it’s already tarnished, ruined by someone invisible who dared to mess with his incredible mind. 

And isn’t Yoongi doing the same, trying to deprive Jimin of his choice? He wanted to join them long before they met, if the journals are to be trusted, and it was his wish, and his only, and it was made before the influence of his feelings for the people on the inside even took hold.

He turns on his back, pondering over his character in Jimin’s notes. It’s obvious he was important to Jimin, his name mentioned on almost every page, the entire system built around his persona, Jimin’s focus wavering to others but never shifting from Yoongi. Is it possible? That Jimin came to love him long before Yoongi even knew he can feel something as strong as he does now?

He tries to imagine their real first meeting. What did Jimin feel? What did he see in him that made him think he can belong and dive into the investigation that cost him his memory? Did he feel something resonating in Yoongi that made him seek the answers to the question posed by something he saw in the Underworld? What was plaguing his mind then that moved him to long for acceptance of someone like Yoongi?

He wraps his hands around himself, closing his eyes and imagining holding Jimin. Noticing him earlier and giving him the protection he needed, keeping him safe from the threat that he felt, promising that he’ll be okay now. He wonders how it would go if he met Jimin first. How would it feel to slowly fall for someone he wasn’t obligated to be around by duty but followed out of his own volition. Jimin would probably be the one to bring Taehyung here to introduce to Jungkook, and they would laugh together at those two crushing on each other, and Yoongi would teach him how to fight because Jimin needed it now as a member and wasn’t forced to do because he was afraid. He swallows, the fantasy too appealing to chase it away. 

One way or another, meeting Jimin was something he was always meant to live through. Loving Jimin was written into his fate against his own desires and intentions, and with every day, it becomes easier to see that maybe, being Jimin’s guardian means allowing him to walk by Yoongi’s side and teaching him how to protect himself if Yoongi ever isn’t there to do it himself. 

He tests the thought, prodding at it with his distressed mind. 

Jimin as one of them. Jimin as Yoongi’s partner, in more ways that he can allow himself to think about. Jimin as his Aphrodite. 

It’s another thing he feels is misunderstood between them — Yoongi doesn’t want Jimin to be someone else, never did. He always had this fantasy about meeting his Aphrodite because it only seemed logical for him, as Ares, to have one, but he never sought someone specific. It was always just a nickname and a longing for someone who could bear it. And now he’s finally here. 

Yoongi never wanted Jimin to be someone he’s not. He just wants him as he is. Because the way he is — it’s already the most perfect incarnation of Aphrodite that Yoongi could ever want. 

He hears the water turn off in the shower and gets ready to be forced to get up and take his own. He won’t confess it to someone apart from Jimin, but he’s dreaming about a bath, but apparently, you can’t have those when you have a few dozens of stitches on your body and a bloody cast on your arm. He pouts at it now, tracing all the little doodles Jimin drew to distract himself from homework and the piles of notes he didn’t remember taking. It’s basically just curls and spirals, but there are a few French words here and there, and a smiley face near his wrist. 

Jimin comes out of the bathroom, his hair wet and his face flushed from the hot water. Yoongi shamelessly ogles at him, his clothes sticking to his barely-dry body — because that keeps your skin clearer, apparently (he’s going to start a beauty blog soon, what with basically living with Jimin and watching his routine every day).

He’s not looking at Yoongi, and it’s strange because his first favorite thing to do in the morning is to force Yoongi to be a responsible patient. Yoongi watches his back as he applies his moisturizer, or whatever that is that keeps his skin looking like the softest marshmallow that Yoongi kinda wants to poke with his finger. It’s silent, and alright, it’s another weird thing. 

He gets up on one elbow, tilting his head and frowning. 

“Is everything okay?” He wonders, swallowing. 

Jimin turns around, still occupied with rubbing his face with something mint green, and blinks at him. 

“Yeah, why?” He asks, sounding almost breathless. “You need to get up and go shower. And please, shave if you want to look respectable.”

Yoongi pouts, touching his stubble with a distressed feeling.

“I look gruff,” he retaliates, throwing the comforter off and standing up to stretch his limbs.

“You look like a high-schooler who just got his first facial hair.” Jimin snorts and grins at him, his skin glistening. Yoongi throws a pillow at him. 

He moves to the bathroom, lazily waddling and allowing his body to get back into gear. Jimin is sitting on his table, looking at himself in the mirror, scrutinizing his face. 

“You look nice, stop searching for flaws,” Yoongi mumbles on his way past. He doesn’t miss the way Jimin presses his lips to keep off a smile, and it makes him even giddier. Damn. He’s _that_ guy, isn’t he. 

“Compliments won’t get you out of taking your meds and going to Taeyong for a checkup,” Jimin informs him, hopping off the table and going for the other room to get his clothes. He refused to leave Yoongi’s side throughout his recovery, but he started going to classes again, and yesterday he finally picked out some things from the apartment. 

It’s not like Yoongi was complaining about him raiding his wardrobe, but, apparently, “a guy can only go so long in black and grey.” Yoongi was offended. He also has white shirts. 

He passes Jimin rummaging through the closet he put his things in on his way to the bathroom and watches his back muscles move under the shirt. He’s almost inside when a thought crosses his mind, and he pokes his head out, hooking his healthy hand on the doorframe.

“Will you be here when I come out?” He asks innocently, but Jimin snorts anyway, turning to him with a silver shirt in his hands.

“Don’t think so.” He shrugs. “I’ll go find some food in the kitchen and puppy-eye someone into ironing this for me. Johnny is taking me to college today.”

Yoongi tries not to feel too upset, so he nods curtly, going to close the door. 

“Pick me up?” Jimin offers, his lip caught between his teeth, his eyes warm. “If Taeyong clears you?”

With the face he has now, Yoongi will claw his way out to go meet him even if Taeyong chains him in the basement. He doesn’t voice that, though — just nods and disappears inside. 

They’re domestic, he thinks as he wipes the steam off the mirror and looks at his pale face. 

Not a single fuck is being given, he realizes. And he’s okay with it. 

///

“Is Thomas skipping again?”

“I don’t blame him.” The girl throws her hair back with a superior look of knowing more than her friends. “He was at that mess at the Underworld club. Says he’s still recovering.”

Her gossiping comrades gasp in unison and lean closer, and Jimin rolls his eyes, enjoying the fact they’re sitting in front of him and can’t see him. 

“Was he injured?” Another girl whispers, her eyes round as saucers. “I thought they got all the civilians out before the explosion.”

“Yeah, but he didn’t leave,” the first one sighs dramatically. “Says that someone came out of the hotel and asked a few strong guys to stay behind and help.”

Jimin hears Taehyung snort and slaps his hand slightly, looking at him with a smirk. “A very exciting story,” he mouthes before turning back to the action in the front row. 

“Anyway, he won’t tell me what happened,” the girl pouts, playing with her hair. Jimin thinks she’s paying it too much attention, considering it looks like a dry mess. “But says they made them do some dark shit.”

Jimin grits his teeth, his amusement mixing with annoyance. He sees the feeling reflected on Taehyung’s face. They both know damn well that the Underworld is way too staffed to ask some dumb kids to pull their weight. All the partiers were escorted out immediately, with guards making sure they’re gone out of the danger zone. 

“But you know the creepiest part?” She leans forward, which really has no point because half the auditorium can hear her staged whisper. Jimin gets curious against his wishes. Her boyfriend obviously bullshitted a lot, but it’s still not as boring as waiting for the lecture to start while listening to her skincare routine, which, if he’s being completely honest, is ridiculous. 

The girls look like they’re listening to the most exciting gossip, and Jimin props his chin with his hand, intrigued. 

“He met Ares,” she whispers dramatically, and Jimin’s jaw tenses. There’s so many bullshit he can listen to, but the mention of Yoongi — who was marching towards his injury at that moment — makes him want to rip out a few dry hairs of hers. He turns to look at Taehyung to calm down, and sees his friend with his lips pursed. Tae rolls his eyes and shakes his head to indicate that Jimin shouldn’t let it get to him. He licks his lips and breathes out. 

“He said Ares looked like he was going to war,” she continues. Now, _that_ image brings some peace to Jimin’s heart. He can almost imagine Yoongi, in his armor and with his gun on the ready, his face determined and deadly. Jimin sighs dreamily, ignoring a snicker from Tae’s side. “He marched right into the crowd of attackers, you know.”

They both roll their eyes in unison. Well, at least they’re sure now that the story is bullshit. Yoongi was far away from the action inside the club, which wasn’t even that much of an action — just people trying to get in and meeting their death. 

“He must’ve looked hot,” some girl giggles, and Jimin catches himself smiling. Yeah he must’ve. At this point, Taehyung isn’t even trying to hide his amusement, choking on his laughter. Jimin looks at him in offense with his eyebrow raised, but aligning with the Underworld apparently took the last shreds of shame Tae ever had. Jimin pushes him with his shoulder. 

“Are you crushing on a criminal?” The first girl asks with a pretend gasp, and Jimin blinks, an excuse on his lips before he realizes that she wasn’t talking to him. He swallows, blinking rapidly, enjoying the fact that Taehyung is now coughing from trying not to laugh out loud. 

“They say he’s hot.” The previous girl shrugs, studying her nails. “And his wanted posters are grainy and awful, but even they look dashing. I’m guessing he’s ripped.”

Jimin bites his lip, trying to hold back his comments. Because he doesn’t have to guess. He _knows_ Yoongi is more handsome than any guy in this university. And yeah, he’s definitely ripped, and if Jimin knows that because he’s paying extra attention when Taeyong is checking Yoongi’s stitches, it’s nobody’s business but his own. 

He suddenly remembers this morning in the shower and swallows, trying not to focus too much on the images going through his mind while he was getting himself off. Facing Yoongi after wasn’t embarrassing, but it was still hard to look at his face and realize Jimin’s imagination doesn’t do him justice.

“He probably fucks like a god.” 

Jimin almost chokes when he realizes that it’s Taehyung who says that, and he watches in horror how the girls turn around and measure them with their gazes. The one throwing remarks about Yoongi smirks and nods. 

“Can’t even imagine,” she breathes out. 

“Can you believe there’s probably someone in this city who doesn’t have to imagine?” Tae says innocently, throwing a glance at Jimin, who kicks him in the shin, feeling the blush creep up his cheeks. 

“It’d be a nightmare to date him, though,” the first girl says with a nose scrunch, and Jimin’s mind freezes. “Imagine always having him go off to do his gang shit while you’re sitting around waiting for him to come back.”

“You don’t have to.” Jimin frowns, suddenly offended. “Or do you think every guy will treat you like a doll?”

He doesn’t know why he’s getting so annoyed, but it just rubs him the wrong way — the thought of Yoongi being a heartless fuckboy, interested in his partner only when he wants sex. Yoongi is caring and kind, even when he seems cold and detached, and he’s always anticipating Jimin’s wishes and makes jokes he knows will lift his mood, and smiles in that crooked way Jimin likes so much because it makes Yoongi look like a cat meme. He’s gentle and soft, and there’s much more to him that just a hot body and badass attitude. 

Oh shit. 

“What I mean is,” the girl turns around more, restricted by the elevated table, and puts her manicured nails on Jimin’s desk. She could use an appointment, he thinks. Just saying. “I just don’t see him as a dating-and-loving type, you know? It would probably be a once-in-a-lifetime experience to sleep with him, but who can ever hate themselves enough to fall in love with someone who may never come back from work? And who may not even know what it means — to love.”

Jimin feels frozen, noting absentmindedly how Taehyung tenses too. He knows damn well what it means to be dating someone like that, and that’s why he knows that she has no idea what she’s talking about. Jungkook is not only capable of love — he’s giving it to people he thinks are deserving of it. And so does Yoongi. 

“I guess we’ll never know.” Jimin tries to keep his tone light. “It’s not like we’re going to go off and date the Underwolders, eh?”

The girls break out in giggles, and he smiles at them despite the cold he feels inside. 

“Well, I wouldn’t mind hitting some of that,” the second one says, and Jimin chuckles. He can relate to that. 

Their professor comes in then, and they all turn forward. Jimin is glad for the distraction, because his mind, only having calmed down with the whole “I’m hot for Yoongi” debacle, is now rolling out another scenario. 

Dating.

Dating Yoongi. 

He knows he’s already had his freakout about being attracted to Yoongi, but somehow in the middle of listing his good qualities to justify his not-so-subtle wet dreams, he completely skipped the romantic implication of it all. And it’s not like it’s all about sex for him — he’s a sucker for the flowers and kisses and all that shit; but everything about Yoongi is always backward for him. He feels his heartbeat rise. Oh, so pondering over the possibility of being a sociopath didn’t affect it but the thought of having a _freaking date_ with _Min freaking Yoongi_ gets it going? He takes a deep breath, trying to calm down. 

His phone vibrates, and he looks down to see a text from Taehyung. 

Tae: _you good? you look constipated and/or like you’re having a stroke_

He looks up at Tae with his most judgmental face and sees him with his eyebrows raised. He looks amused, but there’s still worry in his eyes. Jimin sighs and unlocks the phone to type out a response. 

Chim: **my brain went from ‘okay maybe I wouldn’t mind sleeping with Yoongi’ to ‘shit do I want to _date_ Yoongi???’ whiplash in a span of two hours. can you blame me?**

Taehyung snickers when he reads the message, and Jimin pokes his hand with a pen, offended. He needs support, not mockery. 

Tae: _look at you, mister ‘I hate Ares and don’t want anything to do with him’._

Chim: **but here’s the thing. it’s not about Ares. it’s about Yoongi. yeah it’s kinda a package deal, but I don’t remember the last time I saw him as Ares. he’s just my annoying Yoongles**

He regrets it as soon as he sends it. Taehyung calmly reads the text, locks his phone and puts it on the desk, and then drops his head on his arms to very softly squeal. Jimin rolls his eyes but lets him have it. Anything that makes Taehyung happy, honestly. He waits patiently for the fit to pass and sends another text. 

Chim: **I need advice kim taehyung.**

Tae feels the vibration with his forehead and looks up, his face red and giddy. If Jimin didn’t know what role Tae will soon take on, he’d say he looks like a Cupid. 

Tae: _sorry, mate, my ship is sailing_

Tae: _but real talk. do you want to? date him._

Tae: _just a heads up, tho, dating someone like him means a really uneven schedule and possible dates at three in the morning._

Tae: _they also have a strange sense of romance, and I mean it. this morning, I woke up to Gguk cooing at my ring finger and calling it ‘the bearer of HADES news’_

Jimin slaps a hand over his mouth to keep in his laughter, imagining that coming down. For a gang leader, Jungkook can be very lame. 

Chim: **I don’t know, honestly. I’m still with Tony**

Tae: _only technically. you’re breaking up with him tomorrow, and it’s not even about that. it’s about whether you see yourself with Yoongi at some point in the future_

Chim: **I still... idk. it feels weird**

Tae: _ugh look at your righteous ass_

Jimin pokes him again with a frown. There’s not a shred of affection to Tony inside of him, and his ethics are slim but strong — the thought of someone else in Tony’s place while they’re still technically together is uncomfortable, no matter how appealing. He bites his lips, trying to imagine holding Yoongi’s hand not because he’s dragging him somewhere but because he can. Because that’s what people in a relationship do. It feels comforting. 

Tae: _come ooooooon. imagine you’re already broken up. how imagining dating Yoongi makes you feel?_

He rubs his chest with a smile. 

Chim: **warm.**

This time, he expects Taehyung to squeal, so he giggles when the choking sound comes from the left. It takes a few moments for him to jerk up and start typing furiously. 

Tae: _then fuck it. honestly, Jimin, fuck it. he’s perfect for you, and you’re perfect for him. you’re both idiots, but like in the way it makes sense? I’ve been around him for a few months, and I’ve been around you half your life, but I can see that you’ve both changed a lot since you met, in a good way, and it’s weird now to see you alone. it makes sense when you’re together, even when you’re fighting or bickering. *especially* when you’re fighting or bickering. he’s not very talkative but he fills up his weekly quota when you’re around. and I’ve never seen him smile so much. the man is whipped, I’m telling you. and you?? you look healthy for the first time in forever. for fuck’s sake, Jimin, when was the last time you slept without him in your bed? you’re not stupid or blind, I know you feel this shit. your brain made the decision to stick with Yoongi long before your heart settled on staying with the Underworld._

Jimin takes a deep breath, processing it all and realizing with a great deal of annoyance that it’s true. He closes his eyes briefly, sniffing a little. Shit. 

Chim: **are you saying this because you’re the one staying with them?**

It’s a weak response, and he’s stalling, but it’s hard. That wall still stands, preventing the fantasy of being Yoongi’s... Boyfriend. Gods, he can’t even think it without feeling like he’s suffocating. 

He hears an exasperated sigh. 

Tae: _well, duh. but I wouldn’t force you into some guy’s bed just to have you stay with me when I’m married to that guy’s boss. you know me — I wouldn’t be saying it if I didn’t believe it’s the best option for you._

Tae: _I mean, can you remember me ever saying something like this about Tony?_

Chim: **well I can’t remember a lot of shit connected to Tony.**

Chim: **but no. you never liked me being with him**

Tae: _because I always knew he’s not right for you, and I was just waiting till you realize it and dump the bitch. if I’d known about the shit with your memory, I’d have stabbed him myself_

Jimin looks up at him skeptically, but Tae just looks at him long and hard, sure in his words and thoughts. He squeezes his hand gratefully. 

The professor is talking, and they’re supposed to be listening, but somehow, it doesn’t seem like the priority now. He’ll just copy from the girl in front of them. Exchange it for some hair care advice or something, she can definitely use it. 

Chim: **it’s just scary. how fast it happened, you know?**

Tae: _yeah, I know. trust me, I lived through it. but it just doesn’t work like it usually does with them. I got engaged three months after meeting Gguk, and if that isn’t telling, I don’t know what is_

Chim: **Yoongi said something about it, you know? how they don’t feel like ordinary people do. they trust and love differently.**

Tae: _yep. and if you come to think of it, you and I are not that different. one of the reasons it happened for us this fast, I think, is that... we’re the same, babe. we belonged with them way before we met them._

Jimin bites his lip, thinking about his notes. Some past version of him figured it out in a heartbeat and actually tried to do something about it. Yet the present version of him is still hesitating. 

Tae: _and you knew it. last May, you knew it. you just need to remember._

He sighs and drops his head on his hands, rubbing his face. He just needs to remember. 

Tae: _okay, but coming back to the dishing. *do* you want to date Yoongi? like, what’s your first instinct?_

Chim: **smacking him. and then kissing the pain away.**

He covers his eyes with his palm in embarrassment while Taehyung is having another giddy fit. It feels like they’re fifteen again and talking about their first crushes, and something about it warms his heart. They deserve a break from the worrying and the fear and the seriousness of their lives at the moment. They used to have these gossiping sessions every other day, and it’s been a while since their last one. He finds Taehyung’s hand with his and intertwines their fingers, stroking his skin. No matter the emotional turmoil he’s going through, one thing he can always rely on — his best friend right next to him, making him face things he’s refusing to acknowledge. 

And alright. Maybe, just maybe, there’s something behind that wall that’s legit. It just isn’t ready to show yet — or he’s not ready to see it yet. But it’s coming close — with every passing second that he misses Yoongi’s presence, and with every beat of his heart, he’s slowly coming to accept the true meaning of Min Yoongi to his soul. 

Chim: **oh sweet christ, but does Yoongi want to date me??**

Tae: _I’m assuming you’re looking for an answer more sophisticated than “well duh”?_

Chim: **i don’t even know what I mean to him**

Tae: _sigh_

Tae: _if you don't think it’s obvious already_

Tae: _then ask him._

Easier said than done, Jimin thinks with a frown. How does he even do it? 

_”Hey, Yoon, I know you’re catering to my every whim, and you look at me like I’m all the kitten videos personified, and you’re so worried about me that you refuse to let anyone else protect me, but do you want to, like, kiss sometime?”_

He cringes internally. 

And alright, maybe he already knows. He’s known since they first met. He remembers those three weeks after Kim hit him — how Yoongi kept texting and calling him and never letting him feel alone, and it felt fucking nice, and Jimin knew why he did it. Just like he knew why Yoongi went out of his way to stay on guard duty with him. Just like he knew that, no matter what Yoongi told him about him being an invisible character of this city, Yoongi always looked right at him. He’s running in circles around one simple truth that he doesn’t know how to face. 

His phone vibrates, and he looks down to read another text from Tae only to realize that it’s not him. He purses his lips. 

Tony: _are we still on for tomorrow?_

He almost forgot about it. In all the turmoil of finding out how messed up his brain is, the little issue of breaking up with Tony seems to have shifted to the background. He needs to ask him for way more shit than just to stay away. Tony knows something Jimin needs, and he’ll be damned if he lets him out of that apartment before he gets all the answers. 

Jimin: **yeah. come by around three. and you better be honest with me**

There’s no response after he sees the ‘Read’ receipt, so he locks his phone with a sigh. 

He remembers the times he dreamed about having a cool and active love life. He wants to come back in time and slap himself. 

The lecture is boring, he comes to find when he actually listens to it, so he allows his brain to log out for a while. 

Yoongi. Of course the default mode of his thinking is Yoongi. It’s not even that annoying anymore. 

By the time that the class ends, he’s already gone over about forty scenarios of actually asking Yoongi what he feels toward him. He tries to shake it off and focus on his studies, but as soon as they leave the auditorium, Changkyun greets them with a lazy wave, and Jimin resigns himself to keep pondering over the certain Underworlders. 

“Hey, are you dating someone?” Jimin asks innocently as they walk down the corridor to the canteen. 

Changkyun looks him over with a stone face and hums. 

“I’m flattered, but you’re not my type,” he drawls, fixing his backpack. “Plus, my bitchass boyfriend would poison me for cheating. Not like I would ever do that, but I’m still terrified.”

Jimin snorts, looking at him and wondering who his boyfriend is if he makes someone as scary as Changkyun ‘terrified’. The good mood passes in a second, though, because this just isn’t fair. 

“If I find a straight person in this gang, I’m buying them drinks,” he murmurs, making Taehyung laugh out loud. 

They move through the crowd, navigating between people, and Jimin realizes something. This is where he usually meets with Tony because their classes are in this wing. He looks around, something unsettling inside, but the guy is nowhere to be seen. In fact, when was the last time he showed up at college? He frowns, feeling a sudden worry — there might not be anything romantic there, but he cared about him at some point. What if he got in trouble?

Jimin sighs, not knowing if it’s his business. Tony seems to be getting tangled in a lot of shit without informing Jimin, so to hell with it. 

The rest of the day passes in a blurry mess of classes and thinking about Yoongi, which isn’t supposed to be surprising at this point, but still makes Jimin want to bang his head against the wall. 

It’s five minutes until he’s free from the torture, Taehyung having left earlier and Changkyun softly snoring somewhere in the back aisle. His mind just isn’t in it today, and he impatiently shakes his leg, anxious for the class to end. Yoongi hasn’t texted him, and Jimin was too caught up in having a really long and confusing talk with an imaginary version of him to contact the real one, so he doesn’t even know who’s going to meet him when he comes outside. Johnny is on driver duty today, but Jimin is way past lying to himself, so he admits it — he hopes Taeyong cleared Yoongi. 

He hears someone’s phone buzz and looks down at the same girl they were listening in on this morning. She reads the text and gasps slowly, showing it to her friends to emit the same reaction. Jimin leans forward to listen to their whispering because there’s literally nothing else to do apart from listening to the professor that looks like he had a stroke a few years ago, letting his ghost remain here to keep teaching. The girl hears him shush at her and turns around to look at his face and recognize her interlocutor from this morning. Her face turns from annoyed to excited again, and she grins at him. 

“My friend just texted me,” she informs him in a hushed voice. “He just saw someone from the gang outside. They parked their car right by the fountain. Can you imagine?”

“What are they doing here?” Another one whispers, and Jimin blinks, trying to keep his face calm. He can guess. 

“They hang out on the grounds sometimes,” the first one says with that same air of superiority. “People say a lot of deals come down behind the Psychology building.”

“Yeah, but he says the guy is just standing by the car,” she shoots back. 

Jimin tries to hold his excitement in. Johnny wouldn’t park in plain sight. There’s only one person Jimin knows that would show off like that.

He keeps flexing his fist anxiously until the end of the lecture. As soon as they’re dismissed, he shakes Changkyun awake — because, contrary to a popular belief, he doesn’t have a death wish in case Yoongi sees him unguarded — and makes his way outside, trying not to look too eager. He guesses he’s failing since Changkyun keeps laughing at him, but the urgent feeling is back, pushing him to see Yoongi as soon as possible. Maybe, even all the questions that have been on his mind today will resolve themselves. It’s a long shot, but a guy can dream.

The girl wasn’t wrong — a familiar black car with tanned windows is parked near the fountain Jimin met Yoongi at two weeks ago, and he feels his heart quicken as he spots the relaxed frame of the man leaning against it. He bites his lips and goes even faster, pathetically failing at looking relaxed, and hears the same damn girls giggle behind him. 

“Who wants to dare me to approach him and ask him out?” One of them says, and Jimin rolls his eyes, taking advantage of wearing sunglasses. She can definitely try, but if weeks spent by Yoongi’s side and hours of breaking his brain trying to figure the guy out tell Jimin something, she will be less than successful. 

He knows when Yoongi spots him by the way his mask moves, covering a smile, and Jimin feels a bit lighter. Some petty urge takes over, and he speeds his step up, reaching Yoongi in a few seconds and letting his instincts kick in. He comes unbelievably close and wraps his hands around Yoongi’s neck, putting his chin on Yoongi’s shoulder, reveling in the happy feeling when he senses the man wrap his arms around his waist almost on instinct. He breathes in, his eyelids fluttering at the familiar smell, finally not mixed with the stench of antibiotics. 

He holds the hug for a few seconds and then leans back, still not letting go, but aware of the fact Yoongi’s ribs are still healing. 

“What’s that for?” Yoongi murmurs, and Jimin is — delighted — to see hints of red on his skin. At least it’s not pale anymore. 

“No reason,” he mumbles back with a smile. “So Taeyong said you’re good to go?”

“Well, I’m here, aren’t I?” Yoongi raises his eyebrow. Jimin notes how he still doesn’t let go, holding his waist tight, and in this moment of contact, all the doubts and fears are stepping away, all the scenarios disappearing, leaving only the clear reality in their wake. 

“I wouldn’t put it past you to go rogue.” He chuckles and sighs. “You’re annoying like that.”

He hears voices behind them, and maybe he focuses on the girls on purpose but nobody will ever know, and it feels satisfying to hear that they’re whispering furiously to each other. Try and ask him out now, you dry-haired bitch. 

Jimin steps away and goes around the car, sliding into the passenger seat and taking a deep breath. He hears the driver’s door close and turns his head. 

“Can you drive with that thing?” He gestures at the cast as Yoongi looks him over and leans forward to strap his safety belt in. Jimin suppresses another smile, not bothering to lean back and making Yoongi’s right hand press against his stomach. It’s probably uncomfortable for him, and Jimin smugly looks at his face, calmly turned toward the street. 

“It’s my left hand.” Yoongi shrugs as he straightens and starts the car. “I just have to hold it on the wheel.”

He checks for obstructions, and Jimin unintentionally looks down. Yoongi’s shirt rode up, and he sees some of the stitches on his abdomen. He had a lot of cuts from falling on the ground before an abandoned building, covered in shards of glass and stones, and Taeyong had to apply so many stitches he ran out of thread in his spare surgery room. Yoongi seems to be healing incredibly fast, though, the pink tissue already growing back, only his ribs still remaining the main issue that doesn’t seem to really bother him. Some of the stitches cover his tattoos, and Jimin wonders what they all mean. He caught a glimpse of them when Taeyong was changing Yoongi’s bandages, but he was too stressed about everything going well to pay any attention to the pattern. It looked like long grape vines, starting somewhere near his crotch and extending all the way to his collarbones. There were other drawings, but that was the one that stayed in his mind because it had arrows and blades instead of the leaves tips. He looks up again and tries to decide if it’s appropriate to ask about it now. 

They ride out of the territory, and Jimin watches the girls from before following them with their eyes. Yeah, he feels smug. Whatever. The closer he is to Yoongi, the less he cares. 

“Do you want to stop somewhere on the way to Jungwoo?”

Jimin turns to look at Yoongi, but he’s looking straight ahead, attention focused on the road. Jimin guesses he’s probably convincing himself not to ride over any students. 

“I’d love a cup of coffee, but we can do that later.” He shrugs and plays with the hem of his shirt. “I just want to get this over with.”

It feels... Anxious. Like he’s a kid again, and his mom is taking him to the dentist, and he’s scared shitless because kids at school keep telling all those horror stories. He takes a deep breath to calm his nerves and looks out the window. They’re already on the main road, but it takes about twenty minutes to get to the Hecate when it’s clear. They’ve caught the rush hour, though, so Jimin resides to this being a long trip. 

He doesn’t know what they will find in his mind, but he’s damn sure that he wants to finally find out. Lately, everything seems to be holding him back, blocking his conscience, preventing him from moving forward with his life. He hates change, but he sure wants _this_ one to come and help him break the shackles of the past he doesn’t remember. 

Yoongi drums his fingers on the wheel, and Jimin focuses on them, his head lazily thrown back on the headrest. 

“You’re nervous?” He asks quietly. 

Yoongi sighs and closes his eyes briefly, waiting for the car before them to move. He probably wishes they were on the bike, and Jimin shares the sentiment, but it’s risky enough trying to drive the car with his arm and ribs broken, let alone a motorcycle.

“I don’t know,” Yoongi confesses with a sigh. “I want you to finally remember what you’ve been deprived of. And I want to have the full picture.”

Jimin nods to himself, turning his eyes back to the road. 

“It’s just...” Yoongi cuts himself off and hisses. “I hate seeing you this despondent. But no matter how... How much your peace of mind means to me, it’s not all about you.”

Jimin holds his breath at this slipped confession and waits for the rest, all the thoughts of the day racing through his mind.

“You found some threat,” Yoongi continues, licking his lips. “And if the Saturday shit taught me something, it’s that your premonitions are accurate.”

“And also that you shouldn’t stand in front of open windows when there’s a gun pointed at you,” Jimin notes, pursing his lips. 

Yoongi snorts. “And that, yeah.” The line moves, and he brings the car forward a few feet before stopping again. “What I don’t get, though, is what exactly you predicted and how you knew about it. It’s been what, almost a year? You were getting impatient by the end of August, but nothing was happening then.”

“What about those...” Jimin frowns, recalling the funny term. “Yago issues?”

“They didn’t start until much later.” Yoongi shakes his head. “I doubt you meant them.”

“Yeah, but some preparation must have been in place?” Jimin frowns, trying to remember everything he knows about this case. 

“The drug they were given seems unfinished,” Yoongi muses. “I doubt it took whoever did it, like, five months to develop _that_.”

Jimin breathes out in frustration, out of options. 

“And there’s also this shit with you being isolated from the rest of the city?” Yoongi purses his lips. Jimin remembers their conversation after they got the curse out of him and shivers. “Has it started when your memory got erased or was it always like this? Why, then?”

“I still don’t really understand how that works,” Jimin confesses with a frown. 

“Well, you spent three months among us, and nobody even noticed.” Yoongi chuckles. “And I don’t think it’s just about the bracelet. Our people aren’t idiots. Even if they wrote you off at first, someone was bound to realize you don’t fit in sooner or later.”

Jimin sighs, closing his eyes. There are so many questions, yet not a single answer, and he almost feels selfish for obsessing over his personal feelings when there’s still a threat to the people he came to care about. 

“You know what’s also pissing me off?” Yoongi says, suddenly louder than before, and Jimin notices how agitated he is. “I had this... Feeling. Somewhere in June. That something is about to happen. Something major, and I even talked to Jungkook about it.”

He recalls Kook telling him about it, along with something else. _You appearing here is a far more predetermined thing than Taehyung meeting me._ He bows his head, closing his eyes. Did Yoongi feel him? Watching from the shadows, observing, getting ready to appear?

“Everything we’ve ever done always seemed too scripted,” Yoongi says with a chuckle that sounds a bit hysterical. “Every loss and every win — predetermined and decided. But then, it was like someone snapped their fingers and let it all go.” Yoongi snaps his fingers loudly to demonstrate, and Jimin flinches. Yoongi takes a breath and moves the car forward, passing a crossroad and stopping before another red light. “And I kept waiting. And waiting. I was constantly on edge, anticipating, so fucking excited for it — and it never came. Months passed, and absolutely nothing changed.”

Jimin looks at his face, his heart breaking over the sadness painted in his hard features, the frustration coming back and unscrewing the bolts on his self-control. 

“With time, I almost forgot it,” Yoongi says after a pause, his voice quiet and hoarse. “And then we’re having this deal going down at the university, and Jungkook sees some guy that sweeps him off his feet, and I look over, and… there’s this... Some short kid, with his back turned, his energy so palpable it felt like I could reach out and touch it. And my watch starts going. All my life, it’s been stuck at 5:13, and I see the hands move, and I think — this is it. My nightmares are over. It’s happening.”

Jimin feels glued to his place, remembering that day like it happened an hour ago, the fear he felt when he saw Taehyung stop and look at the criminals, and the overpowering urge to leave, run away, save themselves. He didn’t even turn around after catching a glimpse of the gang. He didn’t want to. He wishes he did. 

“But the next day comes — and nothing happens.” It’s painful to listen, but he makes himself stay silent. He needs to know. “And then another one. And another. Taehyung appears, and Kook says he’s falling in love, and I’m happy for him, and I keep looking over my shoulder, and I keep wondering if this is all I felt.”

Jimin can’t bring himself to look at him. He’s staring at the dashboard, his knuckles white from gripping the safety belt, his insides frozen. It feels like the catharsis is close but it’s taking its time, and Jimin is cold. 

“Days pass, and I keep... Smelling those freaking grapes and roses, and I’m losing my mind. I need to finally find it. And then Ten gets under a knife.” It’s calmer now, more collected, but still tight. “I drag him home, and I keep thinking ‘What the hell will I tell Taeyong?’, and I’m so caught up in keeping Ten alive that I don’t notice when something changes. There’s people, and Ten is on the brink of death, _again_ , and I just want to get drunk and forget it all until it passes, and I turn around.”

Jimin closes his eyes. He knows what happens next. He’s afraid to breathe.

“And there he is.” It’s so soft and gentle that Jimin snaps his eyes open, taking a shaky breath. He’s never heard someone speak with such… Longing. Affection. Love. “I see him, and it’s all fine now. I’m fine. He’s here, and I’m fine.” They move again, and Jimin counts the poles they pass before there’s another jam. “He looks scared but fearless, like a dumbass deer that walked into a wolf pack and said ‘Try and take me.’ And I get him. I do. He doesn’t recognize me. It takes him an hour to hate me. I’m hurting him, but I need to know, so I keep pushing, and pushing, and asking him something, but he’s not remembering, and I suddenly wonder — _what_ do I want him to remember? I don't know.” It’s soft and broken, and Jimin wants to reach out, but he doesn’t think he has the right. “But I know one thing. I will stay by his side for as long as it takes for us both to remember.”

He physically feels Yoongi looking at him, and he looks back, forcing his neck to turn. Yoongi looks calm, but there’s a storm in his eyes. Jimin feels his breath hitch. 

“Someone kept you from coming to me,” Yoongi grits out. He’s mad but not at Jimin. He’s never mad at Jimin. “Someone made us both go through the nightmare of not remembering. And I will make them pay for it even if it takes my last breath.”

Jimin stares at him, lost for words. He had no idea that Yoongi was in such pain, and he never would have guessed that he went through such a torturous turmoil, but now he feels it. Now he knows. 

“I promised myself to stay away,” Yoongi breathes out, his fingers gripping the wheel. “I promised that I won’t let you get to me, that I won’t let my feelings for you affect the way I think and work.”

It’s like a lightning hits Jimin — the words splitting his mind open, leaving only white noise in their wake. 

“But it’s impossible,” Yoongi continues with a dark chuckle. “It seems that... I need to accept everything that comes with you, or I won’t be able to keep you safe.”

He looks at Jimin again, and this time he manages to look back willingly, unable to speak but wishing to say what he needs to with his eyes. Yoongi takes a deep breath, his own unreadable. 

“You matter, Jiminnie,” he says calmly, and it brings back the memory of the voice message Jimin used to listen to every day they didn’t see each other. Even then, he was already attached in a way he didn’t understand. He’s starting to. 

Yoongi doesn’t wait for a response, turning back to the road, and it’s for the best because Jimin doesn’t have one. He’s trying to make his body relax, his muscles tense as if prepared for battle. He stares straight ahead, counting his breaths. 

They ride in silence for ten more minutes until he feels like he can talk again. The power of Yoongi’s pain is still bitter on his tongue, painted in black and tasting of ink. His not-confession shines with purple on his eyelids. Everything he wants to do is touch him and assure that he’s here now, for good, and he’ll make sure to get it right this time around. 

The wall is still here, but he’ll be damned if he doesn’t start climbing it now. 

X

“You can stay silent, but we’ll get what we want sooner or later, you know.”

Taehyung softly closes the door behind him and waves at Jungkook when he turns around to look at the newcomers. Johnny is behind him, still wary about letting him in because nobody gave any instructions about whether they can let Taehyung inside an interrogation room when they gave out the “Hades’ boyfriend” guidelines. Kook just smiles softly, though, so Johnny breathes out, and they come closer to the glass.

He touches Jungkook’s hand briefly and looks inside the cell. 

The picture of a girl tied to a chair isn’t that surprising. He knows damn well what places he’s about to call home. 

The anticlimactic appearance, though, is Professor Adachi, his relaxed frame illuminated by dim overhead lighting where he’s leaning against the table, not even looking at his prisoner. 

“It’s been almost a week,” Jungkook murmurs softly, disappointed. “She still won’t give in.”

“Have you tried bringing that guy in?” Taehyung wonders, watching the girl’s face and trying to remember if he knows her from somewhere. She looks young enough to go to their college, but something tells him she isn’t a student. 

“Yuto wanted to wait,” Kook answers with a hum. “But his patience is wearing thin, so Taeyong is on his way here from the basement.”

Taehyung nods, taking a deep breath.

“Hades?” Johnny asks hesitantly, an unsure frown on his face. 

“You can call me Jungkook when we’re here, Johnny, we’ve discussed it,” Kook says absentmindedly, and Taehyung suppresses a smile. Sometimes it feels like Jungkook doesn’t quite grasp the effect he has on people, even the ones close to him. “And yes?”

Johnny looks down, kneading his palms. Something is on his mind, something sad and painted with guilt. He feels like pink tamarisk. 

“Is Taeyong okay?” Johnny finally asks, looking straight ahead, and Jungkook turns to him with his lips pursed. 

“The question I’ve been asking myself every day for the past six years,” he murmurs tiredly and rubs his eyes. “There’s always something on his mind. He was born to worry about something, even if it doesn’t always show.”

“I think he’s mad at me for something, but I just—” Johnny grunts and shakes his head in frustration. “I just don’t get why.”

Taehyung sighs, remembering the night of the attack, and the reaction Taeyong had upon hearing that Johnny was the one who found the girl. It was strange and looked like a flurry of petunia petals, but Taeyong was rattled beyond belief, having just patched Yoongi up, and they all wrote it off as an extra ounce of paranoia. 

Jungkook crosses his hands on the chest, drilling the girl behind the glass with his gaze. He’s thinking over something, and Taehyung gives him time. Jungkook is sharp and wise, and the way he talks feels like standing under a waterfall — it’s a revelation yet the one you have to be strong enough to endure.

Finally, he sighs and looks down briefly before lifting his gaze back up and at Johnny. 

“He’s been obsessing over something for a few months now,” he explains. “The thing you need to know when dealing with Taeyong is that he will never reveal what’s on his mind until he has the full picture himself.”

It brings Taehyung back to the conversation in the office when Taeyong was the first one to understand Jimin’s motivation to keep his research a secret until he had all he needed to build his case. 

“You can ask and pry and plead, but he’s just stubborn like that.” Kook chuckles and shakes his head with a small smile. “He hates misunderstandings and deception. He’s doing everything in his power to avoid the first one, but he’s a master of a second one. If you try and force him to tell something before he’s ready, be prepared to get fed some extremely realistic bullshit.”

There’s movement behind the glass, and they watch as the girl tries to lift her head, moaning in pain. She looks thin and pale, but Taehyung can’t find an ounce of compassion inside. She was among the people who almost killed Yoongi, and if it was bearable to watch him recover because Taehyung knows he’s strong, then it was a torture to see the haunted look back in Jimin’s eyes as Yoongi refused to wake up, his frame covered in crimson cypresses. Mourning. 

The door to the cell opens, and a guy gets thrown in, Taeyong following behind, his face cold and resentful. 

“Taeyong needs his time,” Jungkook says quietly. “He’s never taken so long before, though. So I’m preparing for nothing less than a shitstorm.”

Taehyung sighs and wraps his fingers around his covertly, feeling the man squeeze gratefully. He turns his attention back to the glass, curious as to what will happen. 

Yuto throws the prisoner on another chair across from the girl and grabs his hair to tilt his head back. 

“Yeri!” The guy gasps, and suddenly, the lifeless body of the girl is all motion — she bares her teeth at him and lunges forward, but the binds hold her back, and she just shakes with anger, looking at the scared man with the flaming hate in her fired gaze.

“Thank you,” Yuto breathes out. “I was getting tired of calling her a baby-boomer. That’s just plain ageist.”

Taeyong smirks from where he’s leaning against the table, but there’s something careful and uneasy on his face, his eyelids dark as nightshades. 

“So, Yeri.” Yuto walks over the guy and crouches before her, tilting his head. “Whose life do you value more? Yours, or this poor guy you sent on the way to death?”

She’s breathing heavily, her eyes still glued to the other cop. Taeyong suddenly pushes away from the table, coming behind her and grabbing her hair, making her face Yuto.

“You will talk to him, and you will answer his questions,” he growls in her ear, his face unrecognizable in his fury. “Or I swear I will dump your lifeless body by the precinct and make it look like a suicide. Your little family will know who did it, but they will never prove it.”

She grits her teeth, her eyes wild as she tries to look at him, but Taeyong is holding her firmly, and she eventually lifts her gaze to scald Yuto with a heated look. 

“So that’s what you do, eh?” Her voice is hoarse but high, her chest heaving as she tries to calm down. “Thanatos. Deciding who lives and who dies.”

“More or less.” Yuto nods a little and pouts his lips in thought. “I weigh the odds. Foresee the consequences. Make the hard choice.”

“The choice.” She laughs bitterly. “You expect me to believe that one of us is walking out of here alive?”

“It depends,” Yuto says earnestly. “On whether I like what I hear.”

“Don’t say anything,” the guy suddenly says, heated and loud, and Yuto flinches as he turns around to look at him. “They won’t let us rot here, she’ll come for us. Seul—”

He doesn’t get to finish — Yeri throws her body forward, trying to get to him, but Taeyong grabs her shoulders in time to prevent her from falling on Yuto. She hits him with her shoulder, though, and he hisses, wiping at his split lip. 

Nobody in the room has time to react — Taeyong forces her chair around and leans forward, getting close to her face and grabbing her chin. 

“What did he just say?” He growls dangerously, and Taehyung feels the energy of aconite in his movements. 

She’s gritting her teeth, her lips pressed together firmly, but her eyes are scared as she looks up at Taeyong, desperate to avert his attention from what the other guy just said. 

Suddenly, Taeyong chuckles. It sounds horrifying in the silence of the room, and Taehyung steps closer, trying to understand if he’s succumbing to madness. 

“I knew it,” Tae whispers, stepping back and gripping his hair with a wild smile. “I fucking knew it’s her.”

Yeri is looking at him with pure hatred in her bright eyes but he doesn’t pay her any heed, rubbing his chest as if finally feels relieved after carrying something inside for the longest time.

“Thanatos, I am grateful for your help,” Taeyong says absentmindedly, going for the door. “We’re done here for today. I will send a guard in to get them back to their cells.”

He doesn’t wait for the response, leaving the room, Yuto looking after him with his eyebrows raised. 

They turn to the door just in time with Taeyong opening it with a wild smile. It falters when he sees Johnny, but he immediately turns to Jungkook. 

“We need to talk. Your office.”

He doesn’t wait for the response, storming off to the staircase, and Taehyung exchanges a look with Kook. 

“Johnny, make sure those two are placed in cells on two opposite sides of the basement,” he throws over his shoulder as he gestures for Taehyung to follow him out. Tae looks back at Johnny and sends him a reassuring smile before leaving. 

Taeyong is pacing the room when they get to it, his hair wild, his face excited.

“You care to explain what that was?” Jungkook asks grimly as he crosses his arms on his chest, drilling Taeyong with his eyes. Taehyung quietly closes the door and comes to stands by the window. It’s still light out, the sun already behind the clouds but still gifting the world with its shine. He opens a window and smiles a little, enjoying the feeling of spring and hyacinths on his skin. He can see the workers running around, fixing the protections and enforcing the Hotel, the noise of the reconstruction not a bother but a pleasant hum. There’s a fresh breeze, and he climbs on the windowsill to feel it better.

“I finally cracked the _Red Velvet_ ,” Taeyong says excitedly, and Taehyung turns his head to look at him, suddenly wary. He swallows, feeling the familiar weight of dying chrysanthemums on his soul.

“The new unit at the Kim’s precinct?” Jungkook makes sure. They’ve been discussing it for quite some time now, but no matter how fast Aether cracked their codes, they brought them back in a matter of minutes.

“Yes, I’ve been obsessing over them for weeks.” Taeyong throws his hands in the air, beautiful balm of gilead petals in his movements, his relief palpable in the air.

“Really? Nobody noticed,” Jungkook murmurs but composes himself and takes a deep breath. “Do share, please.”

Taeyong opens his mouth but something comes to his mind, and he simply breathes out, suddenly deflating. He throws a glance to the window, and Taehyung knows what he’s going to say even before the confession flies past his lips.

“I need to come clean about something first,” Taeyong starts, a careful and guarded look on him as he hugs himself in preparation for the backlash that will inevitably come. Taehyung bites his lips and sighs.

“We were at the precinct.” He beats Taeyong to it. It may be said that Jungkook has something of a soft spot for him, so it’s better he hears about it from his boyfriend whom he probably won’t be angry at. Hopefully. “Taeyong asked me to help him get inside and distract my father. I agreed. It was before the attack.”

Jungkook looks at him, his face frozen, and then blinks slowly. Taehyung holds his gaze, his fingers moving in the air as if he’s playing with the wind. They keep looking at each other — not exactly a challenge in it as a test of patience. Jungkook’s jaw moves as he takes a deep breath, trying to calm himself. Taehyung catches a whiff of peonies coming from him, but he manages to get his anger under control surprisingly quickly.

“Why didn’t you tell me before?” He purrs dangerously, and Taehyung knows it’s not the time, but he feels in love with him a little bit more.

“Because you would've never allowed it,” Taeyong answers simply, but he still looks wary. “And I needed to check if I was right about who’s in charge of the _Red Velvet_.”

“You’re right, I wouldn’t have allowed it.” Jungkook licks his lips frantically, jerking his head as if he’s having a seizure. “And I would be fucking right to do so, because you made Taehyung… Fuck it, you made _both_ of you walk inside the fucking snake lair to _check a hunch_.”

He’s angry, his hands shaking as he points a finger at Taeyong accusatory, walking closer to the man. Taeyong looks pained, but he’s enduring everything quietly. Taehyung takes a deep breath.

“Taeyong made an informed decision,” he says loudly to make Kook not only hear but also listen. He rarely raises his voice, and it has the desired effect — Jungkook turns to look at him, and some rage disappears from his eyes as he frowns. “And I trusted him enough to come along. Everything turned out alright.”

He hops off the windowsill and comes up to Jungkook, twirling and pointing at his body with his hands, his lips pursed.

“I’m fine, as you can see,” he points out dryly. “So is Taeyong. He did what he wanted to, and I caught up with dad. Still a dick, if you were wondering. Told me I’m way behind on my repentance.”

All the anger leaves Jungkook like water rolling off his body. He knows what Taehyung means.

His father rarely beat him. He isn’t into physical abuse, and he knows damn well how not to be accountable by law, so he always preferred to use rather unconventional methods of reminding Taehyung how little he means.

New day — new mistake. That’s how he called it. Every night, when Taehyung came home, he was supposed to confess a sin — something bad he had done that day. He remembers being so confused for the first few months after mom died, lost in the sea of grief, the smell of harebells and hyacinths chasing after him whenever he went. He could not understand why father believed he did something bad when all he did was trying to stay out of trouble and be a good boy. He never cried. Father hated it. Even after being told how worthless he is, he never shed a tear, and he remembers how proud of himself he was — and how it hurt when he spilled everything into Jimin’s shoulder. It was hard to go through, but he forced himself to look his father in the eye and say he didn’t do anything wrong. He got punished, and he still had to repent, and he still felt like shit. It got better with time when he learned to get around it by lying — what an irony!

Jimin once told him he couldn’t fathom how Taehyung endured being told he’s a fuckup every day as he was growing up without turning into a mess. Taehyung never figured it out himself. He just knew that he had to go through one more day, and he’ll be okay. One more day, one more confession, one more nightmare — and it’ll come.

It did. In the form of a man with soft hair and a lovely smile, reaching out for his hand and warming his forever-cold fingers and taking away his bad dreams. Because here’s the thing — when you sleep next to a bringer of nightmares, they leave you alone.

He stands before Taehyung now, regret in his eyes but stubbornness on his face. Jungkook raises his chin and takes a deep breath.

“More the reason you shouldn’t have gone there,” he says coldly, and Taehyung honestly wants to slap him. But with love. “It was reckless and dangerous.”

Taeyong looks down with a frown, the corners of his lips turned down.

“Would you have been okay with it if Yoongi was there?” He asks quietly, and Taehyung closes his eyes briefly, knowing where this is going.

Jungkook guesses, too, judging by the way he shakes his head tiredly.

“It’s not about whom I trust more, Tae, fuck.” He rubs his eyes and lets his hands fall by his sides, tired. “Because you know I care about both of you equally, and, honestly?” He comes closer and puts his hands on Taeyong’s shoulders, making him look up and meet his eyes. Taehyung is happy to witness his favorite smile appearing on Jungkook’s lips. “After all these years, your self-doubt offends me, brother. Stop being a dumbass.”

Taeyong scrunches up his face but chuckles as he puts his hand on Jungkook’s, squeezing it.

“Yeah, but I keep giving you reasons to throw me out,” he says quietly, swallowing and taking a deep breath. “Let me tell you all I want to first, and then you’ll make a decision.”

Jungkook scoffs and rolls his eyes.

“What decision?” He asks disbelievingly. “Listen, I’m mad about you going to the precinct, and I’m even more mad that I have to find out like this, but stop being so dramatic. You know that you mean more to me than one mistake can erase.”

Taehyung smiles to himself, proud of his boyfriend. Jungkook isn’t the most social person, and he is terrible at handling his feelings, and especially sharing them, which creates the stigma among the people in the city — the Hades is terrifying and vengeful, unforgiving like a cold star.

Which he is, surely, yet he also finishes his day by personally wishing a good night to everyone on duty and composes handwritten birthday cards to his gang members. He also drools in his sleep. Taehyung hates that he can’t tell anyone about that one. He already told Jimin, and he’s had his fit of laughter, and now Tae has to carry that secret around forever.

“It is my god-given bisexual right to be dramatic,” Taeyong deadpans, and they smile at each other warmly. He sobers up quickly and takes a breath. “And still. Listen to what I have to say first, okay?”

Jungkook nods with a sigh, but he doesn’t get to answer — there’s a knock on the door, and Kook calls out, inviting whoever came in.

It’s Ten, a stack of papers in his hands, his face resembling a fairly pissed off possum. It gets better when he spots Taeyong, but he still closes the door a bit too harshly.

“Is Yoongi back?” He asks breathlessly, his annoyance painted with something of a marigold.

“He’s taking Jimin to Jungwoo,” Taehyung explains, blinking rapidly. “Why?”

Ten comes closer to them, dumping the papers on the table and taking a deep breath. He looks like he hasn’t slept for days, and Taehyung guesses running a gang force when its actual leader is fighting death in a coma isn’t the most exciting activity. Ten calms himself and swallows.

“We found out how they got into the Hotel,” he announces, gesturing at the files he brought with himself in a flurry of hands. “There’s a lot of technical shit uncracking which I did not sign up for, but whatever, it’s not like I have anything else to do with my time, eh?”

“Babe, focus,” Taeyong says softly, his brow furrowed. “Have you figured out how they blew up the armory without destroying the weapons?”

Ten takes another deep breath, nodding and shaking his head to get into the right mood.

“Yes, we did. I had a theory about the weapons not being there when the explosion went off — which was correct, by the way, I'm awesome like that — but there was still the issue of time they didn’t have and the mystery of how that little bitch got inside the garage. Because the door wasn’t blown up, they got inside normally.” He takes one of the sheets and turns it around a few times before finding the right angle. It’s a scheme, written over with a pencil dozens of times. “Like, there’s a print system, right?”

“On the garage,” Jungkook confirms, nodding, his hand on his chin. “Basically anyone with enough clearance can access it. The biggest bunker in the city is in our basement, so every boss can get inside.”

“Yes!” Ten says excitedly, and Taehyung wonders how much coffee he’s had. Taeyong rubs his shoulder, but Ten doesn’t seem to notice it, too caught up in explaining the scheme, or whatever it is. Taehyung still doesn’t understand what’s in the picture and how Ten even understands it. “We managed to restore the backups, and guess whose prints were used to get inside?”

He points at the letters on the page, and they all stare at it. Taehyung squints his eyes, trying to focus on separate symbols — and then he gets it. He blinks.

“Darling, we can’t read Thai,” Taeyong voices his thoughts, his tone concerned. Ten looks really rattled. He rubs his face and groans, opening his eyes wide as if he’s keeping himself from falling asleep.

“Shit, sorry, wanted to be dramatic but forgot about the language barrier,” he murmurs, and Taehyung feels the sweet smell of blossoming honeyflowers coming from Taeyong as he looks at Ten while he isn’t looking. Pure affection. “It was Dionysus.”

Jungkook steps back in surprise, shaking his head, his lips white.

“No,” he says firmly. Taehyung frowns, recalling the night the attack happened. He was right here with Jungkook, and he had literally just talked with Hwitaek on the phone because some alcohol shipment was misplaced and they were talking out the details about transferring it to the Hotel.

Ten turns to Jungkook with his eyebrows raised.

“It wasn’t him,” he states, not an ounce of mistrust in him. “I just know it. Someone used his print.”

Taeyong looks regretful before he even says the words, but he does it nevertheless, his fingers playing with the hem of his sleeve.

“Are you sure you’re not saying this because you have…” He frowns, not looking at Ten. “A bond with him?”

“I’m sure,” Ten says without turning to him, and it’s tense and strange. Taehyung feels dreadful. “And here’s why — if the garage can be opened with prints, the armory isn’t that simple, is it? You have to go through another garage, and then — access the armory with the right prints _and_ the right code.”

Taehyung knows it — he was actually given his unique code after Jungkook proposed to let him move freely throughout the building. He wasn’t planning on visiting a freaking armory, of course, but it still feels nice knowing that he could.

“So!” Ten turns to all of them, gesturing with his hands, a caffeine-induced shakiness to his movements. “What I think… No, what I _know_ happened is this — the chick somehow gets the prints from Hwitaek and gets inside the main garage. She gets through the secret entrance to our personal parking and to the door to the armory — but here’s the thing! The prints she used for the garage door don’t work anymore, because Hwitaek isn’t on the list of people with that clearance. But she doesn’t despair!” It’s anticlimactic — how excited he is, but Taehyung used to be a theater kid himself. He knows that when you’re sleep-deprived and have a story to share, the drama just creates itself. The others are watching him calmly, and Taehyung guesses they’re just used to it. It’s nice — how well they get each other. “She has another set of prints, this time those on the big kids list, _and_ she somehow has a code. She gets inside the armory, and her friends get the weapons out through the garage while the party is raving upstairs. She’s standing guard and sets up the bomb while they’re working. She starts feeling dizzy because, by this point, she spent quite some time on the land she wasn’t invited to — remind me to send Jungwoo a gift basket — and I know they didn’t know about the curse because she would’ve left before it made her collapse. Anyway, she waits for the others to finish, stays behind to install the bomb, and sets it off, but her mind is so weak by this point that she doesn’t have the energy to get out — and she passes out before the door where we found her later.”

He takes a deep breath, looking over their faces, as if waiting for them to gasp, but they’re just staring silently. Taehyung claps his hands softly to make him feel better, but it doesn’t seem to work. Ten rolls his eyes.

“So the armory thing?” He continues unbothered even when he doesn’t receive the expected reaction. “The code they used was a general one, the one that almost everyone has, but the prints were from the unique list.” He licks his lips, looking at Taehyung. “They were yours, actually.”

Taehyung feels his heart stop, blinking slowly.

“Excuse me?” He asks softly and dangerously, not sure what Ten is implying, and even if he’s implying anything. He looks at Taeyong and Jungkook, but they look as baffled as he feels. Ten waves them all off with a frown.

“Unclench, I’m not accusing you of anything.” He pouts, holding the intrigue. “But you get what I’m saying? They used Taehyung’s prints, but not his code. Because they could lift them from whatever he touched, but they couldn’t get inside his brain and get out the numbers, right?”

Jungkook buries his face in his hands and sighs deeply. They all exchange worried looks, the onslaught of information buzzing in the air. Taeyong is looking into space without seeing anything, his face empty.

“Did you touch anything while we were at the precinct?” He asks softly, and Taehyung freezes, recalling their visit.

Of course. He closes his eyes, cursing himself.

“Father,” he breathes out, watching the anger come back to Jungkook’s face. Ten looks confused, blinking tiredly.

“I can’t believe he moved on me,” Jungkook murmurs, clearing his throat to take control of his shaking voice. “Why now? Does he know about us? And how the fuck did he get Hwitaek’s prints and the general code?”

He buries his hands in his hair, tugging at it to take his thoughts under control. Taehyung comes closer to him, softly touching his elbow. It feels like black thorns in his lungs — the thought of his father trying to destroy this place because his son happened to fall for its King, and he wants to say something, but Jungkook doesn’t let him — he brings him closer in a heartbeat, wrapping his hands around Taehyung’s shoulders and holding him gently and tight. “We’ll be fine, baby. We’ll figure it out.”

“I already did,” Taeyong says, grim look back on his face. Ten is looking at him with curiosity, but Taeyong is avoiding his eyes. “I don’t think Kim had something to do with it. In fact, I’m almost sure he’s as pissed about it as we are because he thinks that destroying us is his purpose, and someone trying to do it before he gets to makes him mad.”

“What do you mean?” Jungkook tilts his head, suspicious.

“It’s what I was about to tell you before Ten came in,” Taeyong explains, still looking anywhere but Ten. The latter freezes for a second but then makes a soft sound and pushes away from the table.

“I’ll leave you to it, then,” he murmurs quietly, confused, but Taeyong catches him by the wrist, a pained look to him.

“No, stay,” he pleads, but it looks like it’s hurting him to even say it. “I need you to hear it, too.”

It’s quiet. Taehyung grips Jungkook’s waist, the dread spreading through his limbs again as he watches how Taeyong finally looks at Ten, and his eyes tell the story of milk vetch flowers blooming on his skin. Your presence softens my pain. Ten blinks, his brows knitted in worry, but stays put.

“What’s happening?” He asks, and there’s no more playfulness or adrenaline in his voice. He’s cautious and wary.

Taeyong swallows and hangs his head, gathering his strength. Taehyung watches him close, feeling more and more that he’s hesitating not because he wants to preserve suspense but because he’s afraid.

“I need to tell you the truth about something that happened years ago,” Taeyong says, quiet but strong. He straightens up, finally finding his footing and feeling more confident. “I buried it in the past but it came back, and now it’s not only about me. It’s a threat to us all. Including you, Ten, and our relationship.”

Ten blinks in surprise and tilts his head, a chuckle ready on his lips but never leaving them, and he wraps his fingers around Taeyong’s palm, staying silent.

“Tell us,” Jungkook asks softly, and Taeyong nods.

He closes his eyes briefly, and when he opens them, they’re veiled with white periwinkles of remembrance.

“I met Kang Seulgi when I was nineteen. It took me a month to fall in love with her.”

X

They’re silent when the traffic finally takes them to Jungwoo’s shop. Jimin has a thousand things to say yet he stays silent, not knowing how to even start. 

Now that he knows what Yoongi feels — and _how_ he feels it — it seems too real. Like he finally got his answer but doesn’t even know what to do with it. Does he want to say that he feels the same? That he has freaking _feelings_ for Yoongi? Would he mean it?

It’s all theoretical because he always does this — thinks if anything would be possible with the person he likes, but the reality is always a hundred times more terrifying and wrong, and when he is standing before the truth, it scares him. 

And it’s not like Yoongi said anything specific. He said he has feelings for Jimin. Those can be literally anything, fuck, he could’ve meant them platonically, and Jimin would be an idiot trying to confess something he isn’t sure he even feels when he’s not sure if…

Shit. He just promised himself to start climbing, but he’s already spiraling, losing his footing, inches away from falling down. 

He looks at Yoongi now, his back tense and strong under the loose jacket, his casted arm free of the sleeve. 

_Hecate_ is somehow the first thing you see when entering the block, but the last thing you’d expect yourself to be looking at. It’s hidden between two buildings, but, and Jimin doesn’t know why, it feels like it’s what you would be looking at if you stood on the nearest crossroad. It looks old and worn, but it’s exactly what Jimin would expect a witch shop to look like — wooden facade, green and brown colors mixing to create an alluring and soft magical picture, a non-intrusive black sign saying nothing but the name, two paired torches above it. There are no neon words promising to tell the future and change the past as if the customers of this particular shop already know what’s expecting them inside. There’s a little garden up front, a low wooden fence surrounding the beds of strange plants that Jimin wouldn’t be able to name if he tried to. They don’t look like something you can find in a regular garden, but he thinks Taehyung would be able to recognize them and their qualities in an instant. He’s always been into all this flora extravaganza, with Jimin knowing how to read people and Tae knowing how to read nature. 

There are miniature stone stairs leading up to the entrance, and as soon as they step on them, he feels a sudden rush of courage. 

“Wait,” he says suddenly when Yoongi’s hand is already on the door handle, ready to lead them inside. Yoongi turns to him, his eyebrows raised, and Jimin kneads his palms, not looking at him. 

“I don’t know what Jungwoo will find inside my mind,” he starts with a shaky voice, but swallows and makes himself regain control over his vocal cords and his heart. “But I know one thing.” He looks at Yoongi, meeting his eyes and hoping he can see all Jimin can’t say there. “You’ve always meant more to me than I could handle.”

He sucks in his lips, not knowing what to add even though there’s a million of thoughts inside his head. They’re swarming and buzzing, and he feels overwhelmed — but then there’s a hand on his shoulder, grounding him and making everything silent. 

“I’m starting to think that’s the root of everything happening with you,” Yoongi says quietly, something sad on his face. “But I promise we’ll figure it out, Jiminnie.”

Jimin nods with a small smile, and they finally come inside, the smell of cypress and aconite strong but soft. He thinks there’s even undertones of garlic.

The shop looks small and large at the same time, the long hall covered in shelves and shelves of herbs and bottles and crystals, the only visible patches of walls hidden by the drawings and parchments with symbols and ancient words scribbled on them. It’s light, sun shining through the overhead windows, but Jimin feels the soothing cold on his nape. Somehow, it’s a place full of contradictions, yet it feels like that’s how it was always supposed to be. 

There is a small counter at the end of the hall, and Jimin tugs at the sleeves of his jacket, trying to calm his nerves. He barely remembers Jungwoo, having been blacked out for the most of their interaction, but he remembers how soothing and pleasant his presence felt, his aura glowing violet and bringing peace to Jimin’s burning conscious. 

The boy at the counter isn’t Jungwoo, though. He’s standing on a ladder with his side to them, his hand frozen in mid-movement, his actions interrupted by the newcomers. Jimin tries to read him — and he doesn’t exactly fail, but it feels strange, like looking at a setting sun. Beautiful but sad and painful. The boy retrieves a vial from the shelf and comes down, putting it down in the table and stepping around the counter, coming closer to them and smiling. And in his pink hair and soft skin, Jimin sees it — not the setting sun. The ascending one. The dawn. 

“Eos,” Yoongi greets him, confirming Jimin’s hunch, and the boy comes even closer, bowing slightly. He’s dressed like everything Jimin would imagine on a runway model doing the retro soft aesthetic — blue overalls and a soft pink sweater, covered by the purple apron with the symbol of the shop on it. Jimin notices a few colorful wildflowers peeking out from one of his jeans sneakers and decides he likes Eos. 

“Ares,” Eos greets back with a smile and turns to Jimin with an even softer one and an extended hand. “Jimin, I presume?”

“Is there anyone who doesn’t know me?” Jimin chuckles and shakes his fingers with his, feeling how placative his aura is. 

“Jungwoo has told me about the boy with the violet mind that was plagued by the gold,” Eos explains with an apologetic smile, but Jimin doubts he could ever be mad at him. “And if I know your name, it is only fair you know mine. I’m Sicheng.”

“Nice to meet you,” Jimin says genuinely, unable to hold back a smile. It really feels like he’s being lulled to a peaceful slumber by Sicheng’s gentle voice. 

Yoongi shifts, bringing Jimin’s attention to him in a snap — another thing Jimin has been trying to analyze for weeks now — and they both look at him. 

“Jungwoo is expecting us.” Yoongi fixes his jacket, and Jimin notices something. 

He’s nervous. No matter how determined he was to come here and find the truth, he’s still somehow scared of what they’ll find. No. Not scared — it’s Jimin projecting. With every minute they spend together, it’s getting harder to distinguish between his own emotions and Yoongi’s, their bond getting inevitably stronger and mixing Jimin’s perception of them together. He focuses, realizing that he needs to be entirely himself, at least for now. 

“Yes, but he is occupied right now,” Sicheng explains, gesturing to the side. 

Jimin sees the door he didn’t notice before, hidden between two shelves and blending into the overall color scheme. 

They don’t get to react because it opens, revealing the man himself, accompanied by someone Jimin feels he’s supposed to know. Jungwoo stops in his tracks, but Jimin can’t bring himself to look away from his companion. 

He’s tall and handsome, but there is something haunted about the way he’s looking at his surroundings. His facial features are sharp yet kind — Jimin senses his power brimming at the edges of his catlike eyes, but it’s mildly bubbling, not getting past the points he’s letting it. He smells of poppies and dreams, and he looks at Jimin like he was expecting to see him but is still surprised. 

“Hypnos?”

Jimin finally looks away, distracted by the wonder and joy in Yoongi’s voice, and the way he steps closer without seeming to realize it, a disbelieving frown on his face. Jimin feels… Not jealous. He can’t be. No. He turns back to Hypnos and the way he smiles at Yoongi, and something inside of him growls familiarly, and there’s something coming through his body in a flash, and then there’s a sudden knowledge — they’re friends. Hypnos is in love with someone else. Yoongi loves him as a brother. 

They exchange a hug while Jimin tries to get himself together, amazed at the unsettling surge of power that just went through his entire being, Jungwoo’s attentive eyes on him. There’s an amused smile on his lips, and Jimin looks at him pleadingly, sensing that Hecate is the one that can explain it to him. He offers his hand to Jimin, and he ignores the murmurs of the conversation behind him — he takes it, hungry for the peace of mind that it brought him the last time they met.

It helps.

As soon as their fingers intertwine, everything inside his swarming mind comes into focus, becoming clear and precise, sorting itself inside the little shelves and boxes, and it feels like clarity, and he looks back at Yoongi, whose radiant face looks as happy as Jimin has never seen it, and oh. Oh. 

Jungwoo squeezes his hand lightly, letting him have his time. 

“I believe you know our guest, Jiyong?” He says softly, bringing everyone’s attention to Jimin, who blinks rapidly to get himself in shape. 

“I knew his father,” Hypnos murmurs, lowering his head in unspoken compassion. “I regret that my treatment did not aid him.”

Jimin purses his lips, something tugging at his heart. 

“I’m afraid there isn’t anything that could help him,” he says quietly. “But your potions soothed his pain, and I am thankful for that. He told me how patient you were with him, and I regret never coming by your shop to thank you in person.”

There’s a frozen moment of confusion on Jiyong’s face, but it’s gone before anybody can notice. He’s not looking at Jimin, choosing to address a wall above his shoulder, and it would be strange if Jimin didn’t feel that he is simply not the most outgoing person. 

“I’ve heard a lot of good things about you…” He licks his lips with a strangely ironic smile. “ _Jimin._ ”

There’s something there, something Jimin doesn’t understand, but he doesn’t get to ask — he sees the expression on Yoongi’s face, his lips thin and white as if he’s trying to hold himself back from saying anything, and Jimin suddenly realizes with a portion of dark humor — Yoongi has talked about him behind his back. And if the way he’s schooling his face to be cold and detached, Jimin is guessing the things he’s talked about are not unlike the ones he discussed this morning with Taehyung. Huh. Peculiar. 

“Hypnos rarely leaves his quarters,” Jungwoo says, bringing the conversation back to the matter at hand. “But I asked him to join me today. He’s been helping me with figuring out those nasty ingredients in Jimin’s water.”

Judging by his face, they haven’t made much progress. Jimin purses his lips, realizing how powerful whoever is after him must be if both Hecate and Hypnos combined can’t figure it out. 

“We have a few assumptions,” Jiyong says, placating. “But those will still need to be checked out. And now, I believe, we have something to do?”

Right. That. Jimin looks at Yoongi nervously, glad to see the man already looking back at him. He nods slightly at him, assuring that everything will be alright. 

“Shall we?” Jungwoo gestures to the door they just came here, and Jimin contemplates letting go of his hand. It feels refreshing — to actually have his mind so clear finally, and he doesn’t want to deprive himself of it too soon. 

Jungwoo doesn’t seem to be letting go of him now, so he decides to cross that bridge when he gets to it. 

“Yoongi…” Jiyong says cautiously, and Jimin instantly feels uneasy. He doesn’t like the tone. “Hecate and I think it is better we do this with Jimin alone.”

Jimin snaps his head to look at Yoongi who looks as baffled as Jimin feels. But how can he… There are no arguments against it that come to mind, and the dread spreads over his limbs. Just like in the car, he feels like a child about to be escorted into the doctor’s office, but now he has to be alone, completely deprived of his emotional support man. Or whatever Yoongi is to him. 

Yoongi takes a deep breath, but whatever is on his mind stays inside as he squints at Jiyong, finding something there that makes him stay silent. He nods curtly, turning to Jimin and Jungwoo. 

“I’ll wait for you here,” he says evenly, not contributing to making Jimin calm down. He notices it, too, because his eyes turn warmer, and he comes closer, wrapping his palm around Jimin’s neck and putting their foreheads together briefly. “You’ll be fine, Jiminnie.”

It’s fleeting and quiet, but it does wonders — Jimin feels stronger and braver as he turns around and walks inside the adjoining room, not looking back. Jungwoo follows him inside. 

Jiyong turns to Yoongi before leaving too, sending him a reassuring smile and a nod. 

“One way or another, this will all soon be over,” he murmurs cryptically, closing the door behind them. 

Yoongi makes himself tear his gaze away and turn to Sicheng, who’s keeping himself busy by going through a book that looks so ancient it’s a wonder the pages don’t fall apart as he touches them. 

“So.” Yoongi clears his throat, sitting down by the counter and meeting Sicheng’s unamused gaze. “The weather?”

Sicheng blinks at him with his lips pursed. 

“I hate the small talk just as much as you do,” he announces, and Yoongi breathes out with relief.

“Thank fuck.”

Sicheng snorts and goes deeper behind the counter, uncovering a small storage room behind the beaded curtain. 

“But I have some new really soothing peach tea?” He offers. “We can sit in silence, but I’d still like to do something for those injuries of yours.”

Yoongi finds the corners of his lips turning up against his wish and nods. 

“If that’s not a bother.”

Sicheng waves him off and disappears behind the curtain, leaving Yoongi staring at the door behind which Jimin is trying to figure out the secrets of his mind. Yeah, he really needs that soothing tea. 

Jimin looks around as he waits for Jungwoo and Jiyong to set up their equipment. It’s a truly wonderful space. 

At first glance, it was a simple wooden room, not too different from the front of the shop, but as he goes further, the floor panels turn to grass, and the walls turn from wood to glass, huge windows taking up all the space and letting the sun in. Jimin feels it warm his skin, and he takes off the jacket to let it do more. His sneakers go too, because it just feels right — to walk barefoot in this space, more of a garden than a room. He sees a glass wall, something of a greenhouse behind it, and another door on his left, leading up to a garden much bigger than this one. 

“It’s so beautiful here,” he whispers to himself but hears Jungwoo giggle. 

“Thank you,” he says, looking around too, taking everything in with the same wonder Jimin does. “I’ve cultivated this place for years, and I never get tired of it.”

Jimin twirls a little, careful of the small tables with pots and vials here and there. It looks like a working space of someone out of a fairytale, and it makes sense, he thinks, looking at the sparkling robe around Jungwoo’s frame. He’s wearing a simple attire that Jimin would himself put on for a casual day out, but his robe tells the story of a witch that blends in way too well. 

“We’ll need a bit of your blood,” Jiyong says, coming up to him with a syringe and apologetic smile. 

Jimin isn’t surprised somehow — certainly not in the way he was when Taeyong came to him a few days ago with the same request. They probably have the same purpose, too. He obediently sticks out his arm and watches how Jiyong quickly rubs his skin it with some alcohol and takes a sample of his blood. 

He takes his time to look around more, observing the way Jungwoo is throwing herbs and flowers inside a pot, mixing and mashing. 

“Alright, I think we’re all set,” Jiyong announces, bringing Jimin’s mind back to earth and going to drop a bit of the blood in the pot and putting the rest away. 

His anxiety is back, nagging at his ribs, and he rubs them, taking a deep breath. It’s time for the truth. 

“What do you need me to do?” He asks tentatively. 

Jiyong and Jungwoo sit down on the grass, gesturing for him to join them, and he lowers himself down, feeling the cooling earth under his thighs. He caresses the grass, feeling as if some part of Jungwoo’s unknown soothing power comes back, helping balm his nerves with the calming essence. 

“Close your eyes, Jimin,” Jungwoo instructs him, a small wooden pot in his arms. “Jiyong and I will be talking to let you know what we’re doing, so don’t worry, but it’s better if you don’t say anything, even if we’re silent. I’ll tell you when you can open your eyes.”

Jimin nods shakily and sighs deeply before letting his eyes fall shut. 

At first, it’s quiet, darkness around him, but then he feels cold fingers on his forehead, putting some ointment on his skin that smells like mint and jasmine.

“Think about something that makes you happy, Jimin.”

The voice is soft and all around him, and he can’t recognize if it’s Hecate or Hypnos, but he trusts it nevertheless. 

Happiness. The emotion he thought numb in him, almost forgotten, the one that abandoned him years ago when he last saw his mother in the dark hallway. His memory takes him back there now — and he feels cold, his limbs numb as that same boy tells him to turn away and close his eyes, because when he opens them — it will all be nothing but a dream. He’ll spend days trying to wake up and then he will — when Taehyung will see him in the playground and take his hand. Happiness didn’t come then, but he started to feel some distant echoes of it again as he looked at his little brother’s face, and as they walked the path together. 

Until something happened. He sees its blurry shapes but can’t make out what they mean, and so he looks further, to the day Taehyung turned around and found his own source of joy and love, and Jimin spent weeks in the darkness of his own mind, his brain convincing his heart that he’s not needed anymore, and he was barely breathing from the churning feeling of jealousy inside — and he came to Hell to bring his happiness back only to find that it would only bring pain. Only to see that Taehyung is finally free where he is, and that Jimin would be destroying the peace he’s found, and he steps away, learns to be glad for Tae as he falls into the pit of his own pain. 

Only he doesn’t fall. Someone catches him by the wrist, tugging him back and tucking him into their embrace, a faint smell of magnolias and blood chasing his dreams away and gifting him with peace. 

Happiness. In the lines of his tattoos, and in the creases of his rare smile, and in the strength of his affection, and in the breeze of his power — happiness. In the way he’s been in pain for weeks but still allowed Jimin to curl up by his side at night, in the rough patches of his skin where old scrapes and scars meet Jimin’s fingertips on his knuckles, in the way he looks at Jimin as if he’s the thing that hurts and pleases him the most, in the exasperated sighs on his grim lips when Jimin refuses to do what he’s told, in the steady breathing on his shoulders when Jimin is clinging to him — happiness. In the way Jimin almost never remembers his dreams but knows he is there — was there before Jimin even knew he existed — dragging him out of the fire and to safety, scaring his demons away, leaving his own in place to guard Jimin’s soul — happiness. 

Yoongi is his happiness. 

He lets it take over him, fill his lungs, and he scoops it up like fresh water, its warm essence like tears that he refuses to let spill. He sees the wall again — and he throws it at the stone with all his might, watching in wonder how it fuses and dissolves as if he put acid on it, and it slowly dissipates, uncovering the truth behind it.

The glowing red light, shining and illuminating his path as he takes a step, crossing over the hole in the wall, curious to finally see what’s on the other side. At first, he doesn’t see anything, the light too bright to let him look further, but then there’s something purple burning up in the distance, allowing him to see what’s around him — and here it is. 

It’s a garden. Beautiful garden in the morning light, the trees all around him, the flowers on them close to blooming, and he finally remembers how he knows the pattern of the couch at the Underworld Hotel — they’re from here. He blinks, trying to see more, but his eyes hurt from looking at the shining light, and he closes them briefly to give them rest. 

When he opens them, it’s dark again, safe for the red glowing string, the one buried in his chest, and he knows what this is — he’s seen it in Ares’ heart, yet if that one was worn thin, his own is brimming with strength, and he looks up to see where it leads only for a great wave of pain to hit his forehead, and it’s so blinding and overwhelming that he can’t breathe. 

_Shouldn’t you be off doing your homework?_

**It’s summer, and you should mind your own business.**

He opens his eyes with a gasp and almost falls on his back, but Jiyong catches him just in time before his head hits the ground. He helps Jimin up, holding him while he’s gulping for air, his head burning with pain. He rubs his forehead and feels something sticky on it — the ointment Jungwoo rubbed on his skin. 

“You did good, Jimin,” Jungwoo says, but his voice is grim and raspy. 

Jimin blinks in confusion, gaping at him. 

“That’s it?” He asks, finding his voice to be just as raspy. He clears his throat, feeling it burn as if he was screaming. “But we just started. And you said you’re going to be talking the entire time. I didn’t hear you say anything past that happiness thing.”

Jiyong and Jungwoo exchange a glance, something unspoken and dark in it. 

“We’ve been here for over an hour,” Jiyong explains, turning to Jimin. “And we did talk the entire time. You were just too deep under to perceive it.”

Jimin stares at him, trying to wrap his head around it. It feels like the vision was only going on for a few minutes, but as he focuses on it, he realizes how fatigued and stiff his body is. He gets up on his knees, massaging his thighs and frowning. 

They all stand up, and Jimin sees the beads of sweat on Jungwoo’s forehead. He looks exactly like Jimin feels — exhausted and empty. Jungwoo wipes at Jimin’s forehead, getting the mixture away, and his fingers are cold. 

Jiyong motions for them to follow him back into the shop, and Jimin rubs his chest, trying to get his heart to calm down. The fragments of his vision keep flashing before his eyes, the simple truth that came to him as the revelation on the front of it all, slamming into his mind and making him smile. 

Yoongi. Yeah. 

He knows he’ll feel differently when he sees him, but he’s still surprised when the sight of Yoongi, his anxious and tired face lighting up when they finally emerge, makes his heart flutter in pure joy — devoid of any anxieties or fears or doubts. Just it. Happiness. 

There’s no more urgency in him as he comes up to the man, no more desire to fill in the silence, no more uncertainty as to how to act. He simply smiles at him, feeling at peace just being near. 

“Jimin?” Yoongi frowns, looking at his soft smile with suspicion. “Did they get you high?”

Jungwoo snorts tiredly, and they all look at how both Jiyong and he are leaning against the wall, their exhaustion coming off their frames in ochre colors. Jimin blinks, realizing that it’s not blurry anymore but sharp and defined — like someone removed a plastic wrap around his head, finally allowing him to breathe fully and see clearly. 

Sicheng appears with two cups that smell like chamomile and camellia, and the witches take it gratefully. Jimin corrects himself internally — Jiyong isn’t a witch, no matter how much he feels like one. 

“We weren’t able to trace who put the block inside of him,” Jungwoo informs him, rubbing his eyes in annoyance. “There’s no sign of the old curse, but there’s still something more. We determined there was at least three of them.”

“Two,” Jiyong corrects him, and they exchange a meaningful look. “We’ve talked about it, Woo.”

Jimin frowns, looking at them and sensing they’re holding something back, but there’s nothing evil in Jungwoo, no malicious intent, and so he forces himself to trust the man who saved his life. 

“Alright, two,” Jungwoo says with a sigh. 

“That still seems like a lot,” Yoongi grunts, worry in his vowels. Jimin feels warm. So this is how it’s going to be from now on? It’s like his senses are sharper now, and he doesn’t understand how he could believe he was _feeling_ anything before this — even the memories of the things he called emotions are numb and pale in comparison to what he can feel raging inside of him now. 

“Jimin managed to break one of them,” Jiyong says quietly, not looking at him. “We told him to get away from it, and he just threw his soul at it.”

Jimin feels surprised, having no recollection of them ever speaking, but he somehow knows Jiyong is telling the truth — it truly felt like using every ounce of happiness he had in his heart to make the wall break down. He feels a blush come over him as he realizes who he was thinking about when performing that trick. He swallows, licking his dry lips. 

“That sounds like Jimin,” Yoongi murmurs with an annoyed sigh. “You tell him to get to safety, and he will punch the threat.”

It sounds far-fetched, because they’ve never been in such a situation, but Yoongi isn’t wrong either. Jimin is definitely not the one to walk away from a fight, but he’s still more of a talking one. Yoongi is the one usually in charge of punching. They just work like that. 

“In any case,” Jungwoo says, and all the attention gets back to him. “He seemed to have broken through the wall blocking his memory, but there’s still something else in there. Something chemical. We’ve dealt with mind control but there is still something he was fed with that prevents him from remembering everything.”

“It could’ve been injected at any point, and he wouldn’t even notice,” Hypnos adds, his lips pursed. “And it had to be strong, but we saw some major mood swings when he was racing through his own timeline. So it was wearing off, and he was given it repeatedly. You need to control what he ingests and who gives it to him. But for now, his system is riding on what’s left of it.”

Jungwoo sighs. 

“It’s been going on for months,” he murmurs. “So some of it is already rooted in your system. We just need to find the antidote and help you get the rest of it out.”

Jiyong takes a sip of his tea and pushes away from the wall, putting the cup down and standing in front of Jimin, wiping the rest of the ointment away from his skin. 

Hypnos feels familiar. Calm. Relaxing. Safe. 

“You’re most probably going to have flashbacks,” he says quietly, his fingers still on Jimin’s face. Jimin sees white in his irises. “Don’t fight. Welcome them. They will help you figure everything out before it’s too late.”

Jimin frowns, feeling he’s not saying so much more, keeping it hidden away, and he’s about to ask when he sees it — the binding threads of someone else’s secret around Jiyong, painting his blue aura with streaks of gold. He knows more. He wishes to tell more. But he cannot, tied up by a promise he regrets keeping. 

They look at each other, both knowing Jimin feels it, but they stay silent, and Jimin feels that Jiyong is grateful but sorrowful. 

“I wish I could…” Jimin whispers, not knowing what he wants to say, but Hypnos just smiles sadly at him, shaking his head. 

_I wish I could free you._

“Not quite yet, old friend,” Jiyong whispers back, stepping away and waving at the others, their faces confused. “I have to leave now. Woo, my dear, I will see you soon.” He squeezes Jungwoo’s fingers briefly before turning to baffled Yoongi. “Ares, it was a joy to see you again, and I will tell Athene that his friend is in good health now. Please, send my regards to the Hades. I regret not being able to attend the meetings, but you never know — maybe I will bring myself to leave my lab and come down.” He bows slightly to all of them and smiles at Sicheng. “Eos, my darling, as always — pleasure to talk to you.” 

He nods at Jimin with that same sad smiles before leaving, the smell of poppies dissolving as soon as he’s out of the shop. Jimin feels… Puzzled. 

“At least he doesn’t change,” Yoongi murmurs wistfully before turning to Jungwoo again. “Was there anything else?”

Jungwoo looks hesitant, his fingers dancing on the brims of his cup as he looks at the two of them with something sparkling in his eyes. He tilts his head and smiles. 

“Jimin has a fascinating mind,” he starts with a sigh. “It’s a blasphemy that someone chose to mess with it, but it’s also the reason they did. If it was someone else, they’d be dead already.”

Yoongi clenches his fist, anger radiating off of him. He grits his teeth and takes a deep breath through his nose. Jimin can’t look away. 

“What does it mean?” Yoongi grits out, and Jimin doesn’t think about it twice — he puts his own palm in Yoongi’s, smiling when the man holds it without hesitation. It seems to calm him down even faster than Jimin hoped. 

“It means that your boy is strong, Ares,” Jungwoo says with another sigh as he pushes away from the wall and puts down his cup. “We’ll figure out the chemical that affected him and cook up an antidote. Until then — keep him safe.”

He turns to leave, but Yoongi’s voice stops him. 

“He’s not mine.”

It’s hard and strong, and painful, and, Jimin thinks resigned — a fucking lie. Jungwoo looks at their joint hands and then at something between their bodies. 

“He is,” he murmurs with a frown. “And that’s why he’s still alive. Good day.”

He leaves without waiting for an answer, Sicheng following him and leaving them alone. Jimin looks at Yoongi’s profile, the man himself drilling the closed door with his gaze. He’s gritting his teeth, his jaw hard, and Jimin sighs, touching his chin with his shaking fingers to turn his head. 

“Look at me,” he murmurs, and Yoongi complies, their eyes meeting. Jimin smiles. Yoongi swallows and looks down briefly with a frown. 

“I’m sorry for this,” he whispers. “I know you hate it when people tell you who they think you belong to, or some crap like that, and…”

Jimin suddenly wants to kiss him just to make him shut up. 

Of course, he ponders, there are a few other reasons for that, but they’re still clinging to the half-destroyed wall inside his mind, and he needs to pick his battles. So he lets that fear still exist. He’s going to fight it when he thinks he’s ready. 

“You promised me coffee,” he interrupts Yoongi’s rant. “He said they’ll keep trying. They have my blood, so we can leave now.”

Yoongi doesn’t look like he fully trusts what Jimin is saying, and Jimin giggles, tugging at his hand and making him move. He’s kinda proud of it — not every person can probably make Yoongi do what they want. 

“You seem calm,” Yoongi grunts as they come out on the street. “Too calm.”

Jimin giggles again, the bubbles of something light and pleasant puffing up his chest. He looks at Yoongi, noticing how sun catches in his hair, the now-faded blue glowing with mint green. 

“I’m just happy,” he murmurs serenely, surprised but not really. It just…

It just makes sense. To be happy with Yoongi. 

◕

Taeyong is seventeen, and he’s about to break free. 

The walls of the orphanage are suffocating around him, just like they were his entire life, but he’s about to leave them forever and never come back. He’s clutching the early admittance papers in his hands, feeling all the hours of hard work pay off. In a few months, he’ll be studying to be a surgeon. It’s phenomenal, they say, how he managed to skip so many classes and be ahead of his peers, his mind sharp and deductive, absorbing knowledge at record speed, but for him, it’s not a miracle — just a survival instinct. It feels satisfying. But it’s still not enough. 

He looks around his room, the one he shares with four more people, and doesn’t see a trace of himself in the mess on the floor and walls, nothing apart from his guitar, the one he traded for seventy packs of cigarettes he collected over the years. He’s never felt like he belongs anywhere, let alone here, and so it won’t be too hard to leave this place. He just wishes he was leaving for something apart from the simple fact of not being here anymore. There’s a feeling — like he’s on the way to find something, but it’s still too soon. He sighs. He just needs to be patient. 

Taeyong is eighteen, and his dorm roommate is smoking weed he knocked off some kid in the alley behind the Biology lab. He wants to be in a gang, he says, and Taeyong busts up the volume in his earphones to drown his voice out. Basically everybody nowadays wants to be in that gang, because it’s either that or being constantly in danger of getting used in the war. The news of Cronus dying hit everyone, even the people who never wanted to be associated with that part of the city’s bloodstream — like Taeyong — and there are rumors that his older son is now in control, trying to hold everything together but failing. It’s dangerous to be out at night right now, even more dangerous than it used to be, especially in the part of the city that stretches a few miles behind the university. It’s hell, they say, but Taeyong wouldn’t know — he spends his time studying because if they insist on calling him a prodigy, he’ll be damned if he fails to live up to that. He doesn’t have time for weed, or dreaming about the gangs, or even partying — he needs to get his damn degree and get away from this city. He looks out in the window and into the darkness, the city barely visible from where their dorms are, its lights still shining on the walls. It’s there. It’s calling out to him, looking at the same sky, and he’s going to find it soon. He just needs a little more time. 

Taeyong is nineteen, and he’s the only second-year they let inside the crime lab along with the seniors. It’s fascinating and terrifying, and he loves every piece of it, his mind setting itself more and more on the Criminology minor. They’re having this merging experiment when they pair up med students and police academy trainees, and he’s looking around with his card clutched in hand, trying to find his partner for the future project. There’s a bunch of cold faces around, nobody liking someone so young in their midst, but he’s long learned to ignore the people who are too jealous and bitter to deal with the fact he’s better than them. He’s not trying to be a stuck-up on purpose. He just has a pretty good motivation. 

Someone taps him in the shoulder, and he turns around to face a pretty girl, her hair tied up in a high tail and her face serious. He’s a head taller than her, but she looks like she will punch him if he tries to make fun of it. He respects that. 

“Lee Taeyong?” She asks, her voice high but strong. Taeyong sees something familiar in her — the same desire to show she’s more than she appears. He likes it. 

“Present.” He waves his hand awkwardly, smiling a little. “You found me fast.”

“You looked the youngest,” she explains with a chuckle, warming up, and Taeyong finds himself smiling wider. “I’m Seulgi. Kang Seulgi. Future cop.”

She offers her palm, and Taeyong shakes it gently, feeling warmth spread down his neck. 

“Nice to meet you, Seulgi.”

And so it begins. She’s amazing, and kind, and sharp, and she wants to destroy every last piece of evil that inhabits her city, and he falls in love with her laugh and the way she’s always honest and open. Her father is one of the richest people in the city but she never uses it and he only finds out on accident, and she promises it will never come between them, and they’re okay. 

Seulgi is turning twenty-one, and he’s supposed to get her to her birthday party, but he takes a detour to tell her how she changed him in just a few months, and the snow is beautiful around them, but he doesn’t think it comes even close to the way her smile looks in the dim lighting of the street lamp. It’s dangerous to be outside at this time, with criminals getting more and more out of control so close to the bar they’re heading to, but he just needs to say it, and she smiles at him and kisses his lips, and it feels like he’s finally happy. She tugs him inside the bar, and he takes a quick look back at the street, waiting for his soul to catch up to his soaring heart but it still feels like the piece of it is dancing in the snow, reluctant to follow him. He lets it be, because he’s holding the hand of the most important girl in his life, and he feels free. 

The spring passes in a flurry of love and dates, days spending holding her hand and studying, and nights holding her and marking her skin, and they’re young and free and in love, and he feels like it will never end. 

Taeyong is twenty, and he’s staring at a single cupcake his stoned roommate got him, candles announcing that it’s his birthday. Seulgi texted him this morning but she isn’t here now, and he feels like everything is crumbling down around him. They’re perfect, really, they are, but she’s in France with her parents, and it’s another two months until the year starts and they can see each other again, and he understands — he does. It still hurts.

He goes out that evening, wandering the streets, never caring where he’s going. It shouldn’t come as a surprise when he ends up by the unspoken border — the bridge, where the territory controlled by Zeus and Poseidon ends, and the Other, hellish side begins. He lets his legs move when they take him across, feeling numb and cold in July. 

They’re perfect, but she seemed strange before leaving, and he realizes that the old feeling of not being enough is back, and he wants to claw at his chest to get it out, because he loves Seulgi, and she loves him, and she doesn’t care that he has nothing to his name but a bright mind, and she smiles at him like a sun, but sometimes, when its warmth isn’t there, he feels numb and cold, just like he does now. 

He doesn’t know what’s so scary about this place. The lights are shining around him, casinos and bars alluring and calling out. He somehow ends up by a huge abandoned building, its dark windows staring at him from the height of twenty stories, and he wonders how it would feel to look at the city from one of those. It must be all spread out like a picture from there. He shivers and turns around. It must be two in the morning now, his birthday having passed, and it’s time to go back. He has a lot of reading to do if he wants to keep up with the program they’re setting for him next year. 

There’s something nagging at his chest, and he rubs at it as he makes his way past something bright and loud that looks like a brothel. He almost passes it when the door throws open, and a group of people fall out, bringing with them the smell of alcohol and sex. He doesn’t want to look at them but can’t resist an urge to steal a glance — and winces when he realizes that there are… workers among them, girls and boys clinging to them, their clothes in disarray, drunk smiles on their faces. He speeds up, wishing to leave this place before they reach him, and he’s almost successful, but one of the thugs is so drunk he trips over and falls down the stairs leading up to the brothel, right to where Taeyong is standing. He freezes, lost at what to do — does he help him up, does he leave? Someone saves him from the choice — a boy parts from the crowd and runs up to his client, helping him get up. He’s drunk out of his mind, and his gun is visible for everyone here, and his friends are laughing at his angry curses, and Taeyong keeps looking at the boy’s uncovered back where his transparent shirt is showing a patch of skin with a tattoo on it. 

“Keep walking,” the boy grits out, and Taeyong snaps his head to look at him. There’s glitter on his face, his makeup smudged, and he smiles down at his customer, but there’s a warning and a plea in his eyes as he looks back up at Taeyong. 

There’s a freezing moment when they just look at each other, and Taeyong needs to say something, but he can’t — the boy snaps out of it first and pushes the thug up, expertly covering Taeyong from sight and grabbing his wrist for a moment to make him move, and he finally does it, turning around, and he strides away in a hurry, his hands in his pockets, his head low as he tries to control his breathing. 

He gets to the end of the block before he brings himself to look back, but the group is already moving away, bottles of alcohol in their hands, their laughter loud in the alley. Taeyong sees the boy in their midst, helping the injured man walk with a playful — and fake, Taeyong just knows it — smile, and he doesn’t know why he does it. The boy looks back just for a fleeting moment, and there’s another still moment of them just looking at each other, his smile faltering for a second — and then he looks away, and it’s gone. 

He gets home amazingly fast, spooked beyond his wish, and for the first time in two years, accepts the joint his roommate is offering. They share the cupcakes and he plays something he won’t recall later on his guitar, and he passes out thinking that he needs to call Seulgi the next morning and never return to the place beyond the bridge. 

Taeyong enters his third year, and it’s been a month since Seulgi last answered his texts. He’s trying not to let it destroy him — the overbearing pain of heartbreak — but it’s hard to focus when all he feels is hot needles in his muscles. They’re letting him do another project at the academy in November, and he goes there hoping for an explanation. He’s better now, losing himself in his studies to distract himself from the pain, but he still wants a catharsis. He sees Seulgi in the lab, but she just ignores him, her beautiful face turned toward some senior with a shy smile that she used to send his way. He decides that he still has some pride and ignores her too, but there’s a hand gripping his forearm when the lesson is over, and before he knows it, he’s being stuffed into a closet and kissed by someone he’s dreamt of holding again for the past few weeks. He kisses back before he remembers what happened, and he pushes her away, hurt and annoyed. 

She’s sorry, she’s missed him, she still loves him, but her parents found out about him, and they will never allow their older daughter to date someone like him. She doesn’t say it but he hears the familiar words nevertheless — scum, lowlife, poor, nothing. She apologizes and asks to let her go. He stays silent as she leaves, staring at the wall and wondering if he’ll ever be enough for someone unless he has a fat wallet. He’s been nothing but hardworking his whole life but it isn’t what this city needs. It needs someone with power, and he doesn’t have it, and he’ll never have it. All he has is his guitar and his heart, and his dream to use his brains to become someone nobody will ever put down again. 

He climbs her window that night, surprised but excited at the fact he managed to sneak into the mansion territory without triggering the alarm, and she’s scared shitless but she smiles as she helps him inside. They make love for the last time, and he can’t do it, can’t let go — he whispers pleas to run away with him, and she cries but agrees, and only asks for a few minutes to say goodbye to her little sister. He waits patiently, feeling like the last thing belonging in the luxurious room, terrified that the guards will come here sooner than she does, but the door opens and there she is, a smile on her face, her eyes scared. 

They make it out safely, but as soon as they’re at the gates, everything around them lights up, and her father’s voice is booming through the territory, the sounds of guards shouting and dogs barking getting closer. Her sister ratted them out, but they can still make it, he screams, but she resists, and he looks at her — and she turns around to see everything she’s leaving behind. She turns around, and she can’t do it. She lets go and disappears in the darkness, and the only thing moving him to get away is that same survival instinct that helped him all these years. 

He doesn’t remember how he gets home, but his roommate is looking at him like he’s tripping, and he offers another joint, and Taeyong accepts, feeling like his entire life just fell apart. 

The dean himself comes to his dorm on Sunday with fake guilt on his face, asking him to vacate the room by the end of the day. His scholarship was called off, and he can try and get in on the paid program, but everyone present knows he can never afford it, and the dean looks genuinely sorry for a second, but they both know — it’s out of his hands. Someone with a lot of influence requested for Taeyong to be taken care of, and he should be grateful he gets left with his life, because Seulgi’s father is a man that came to his power through his friendship with Cronus, and Taeyong bitterly smiles and thanks the dean for the opportunity that he just lost. 

He’s too old to come back to the orphanage, and he has no money from a job because he didn’t have one, dedicating all his time to studying, and his roommate hides him for a few weeks until someone new comes to take his place, and so he takes a single bag and his guitar and leaves the dorm forever. 

The year just turned, and it’s cold outside but he has no choice, huddling together with some thugs, breaking his promise to stay away from this side of the river, and sleeping in the snow fucks up his back for the rest of his life. He survives on whatever he earns by playing his guitar every day on the same corner, and his main hero is the dude that keeps throwing big bills, but Taeyong never gets the courage to thank him until the man stops himself, frowning at him and asking if he’s playing for an extra buck or it’s all he does. Taeyong is embarrassed but resigned so he says honestly — he’s homeless and this is his only way to survive. The guy blinks and asks him if he wants a home and a purpose. Taeyong asks if he has to sleep with someone for that. 

“Only if you want to,” the guy chuckles and offers his hand, and Taeyong isn’t sure what to believe but something tells him to trust. And so he does. “I’m Jungkook.”

Taeyong is twenty one, and Yoongi somehow finds out it’s his birthday and gets a chocolate cake that everybody hates but eats anyway because the guy looks terrifying but also extremely hopeful. It’s stuffy in the bar they use as their headquarters because they’re expanding every day, but he feels peaceful. Their plan is crazy and it’s yet to bring any results, but the scars on his heart heal to be replaced with the ones on his hands as Yoongi teaches him to fight, and his back hurts but he fights through it. It feels like something is missing, but he knows what it is, and he chases the thoughts of her away — her family left town a few months ago, choosing to salvage what they have as the city slowly succumbs into chaos, and he doubts she’s ever looked back like she did on the night he offered her to run away. He doesn’t look back, either. 

Taeyong is twenty two, and he is an Orpheus of the Underworld. It’s still new and fresh on his skin, and he watches how Yoongi gets a tattoo with a huge eagle covering a wounded robin. Kibum is popping a gum as he works, sneaking a glance at the rest of the design to see how it will fit, and Taeyong stares at the lyre — his own sign that Yoongi is about to embroider into his skin forever. Taemin is offering him a few albums to look through, but Taeyong shakes his head. Not yet. He wants to cry from the power of affection he feels when looking at how fearlessly Yoongi is devoting his life and body to the Underworld, and he shares the sentiment, but not yet. He’s the brains around here, and Jungkook keeps telling them how his mad plans wouldn’t come to life without Taeyong’s sharp planning and Yoongi’s overpowering force, and it’s everything he always wanted to be — someone useful, someone using his intellect to help, and even if it’s not the thing he thought he'd be helping with and the place he thought he would belong to, it’s still his. 

Taeyong is twenty-three, and he finally gets it — his first tattoo, the strings of his guitar with a serpent hidden behind them all along his arm, a sword handle tying them together on his shoulder. Jungkook and Yoongi intertwined on his skin, his first real family, his brothers. It doesn’t hurt as much as he expected, and he even enjoys the buzzing of the machine on his skin. The Underworld is the solid power now, and it still feels surreal that he’s not only a part of it — he’s at the top of the food chain, and as he sits there, waiting for Taemin to finish up, he thinks about her. Jungkook pulled some strings to get his professors to tutor him, and they’re happy to do it because he was always the brightest student, and the thing holding them away is gone now, Seulgi’s family nothing but a memory in the stones of the road. She’s studying in Spain now, as he’s heard, and he won’t admit it, but some part of him still wants to call her and ask how she’s been. There’s no point. What was between them is long gone, and he doubts she’d be happy to see what he’s become. A criminal, the very thing she was studying to rid the world of. He wonders if it’s everything holding him back. The tattoo needle is cutting into his skin, but his soul still feels numb. 

Taeyong is twenty-four, and the Underworld Hotel is bright and shining in its glory, its reconstructions finally over to let them all in and be announced the new headquarters. They roll the dice on the rooms and somehow all end up at the ninth floor, so it’s another roll to determine the apartment — and they look like children, three gangsters that rebuilt the city on their knees, following the dice on the carpet with their eyes as it determines their living arrangements. Jungkook gets the biggest one and cackles like a kid, and Yoongi throws a pillow at him while Taeyong laughs like an idiot. He gets the one with a balcony and three rooms, but trades with Yoongi after a pout and a few solid arguments most of which revolve around the fact that Taeyong doesn’t smoke that often and Yoongi will die before he has to walk outside for that. He’s happy with his own apartment — it has two rooms and a huge bathroom, and he’s standing in the middle of it, remembering the times he didn’t have even a square of his own space. He smiles softly, hanging his guitar on a visible place and hugging himself. It’s enough. It should be enough. It’s not enough. 

He’s insomniac tonight. He goes out, hugging his frame against the cold February air, the spring already around the corner but still refusing to show up. He doesn’t know where he’s going but he doesn’t care, and it seems like his preferred method of escapism, and he thinks about Seulgi. It still hurts, no matter how much he hates it, but he knows there’s no love anymore — just nostalgia and memories he can’t seem to shake off. 

It’s nearing four in the morning, and he thinks about turning back when he sees the lights of the _Blackpink_ behind the buildings, but suddenly, as if out of nowhere or from another reality, there is a blow of wind that almost knocks him off his feet, and he smells electricity as if the storm is about to hit, and he closes his eyes, trying to stay upright. When he opens them, there’s silence — until there isn’t. 

He snaps his head to the right when he hears a faint moan — and something inside him breaks as he runs toward the sound, an unexplainable urgency in his movements and the flight in his step. He sees the guy before he’s noticed himself — and he memorizes the twisted face in an instant, his gaze zeroing in on the knife in his hand. He pulls out his gun, but it’s too late — the guy sees him and takes off with a curse. Taeyong makes sure he’s really gone before coming closer and crouching over the victim, and it feels like everything shatters as he looks down at the bloodied face. He doesn’t know him, but he feels him, every cell in his body screaming to help, and he quickly looks over his wounds before taking the man in his arms and running home, his veins on fire, his lungs drowning, his mind aflame with realization that if he doesn’t save him — it will destroy him, and Taeyong doesn’t know what it means but in a flash of a second, this person is everything he can think about. 

He brings him back, patches up his wounds, and nurses him back to health, and he whispers hoarsely that Taeyong is his angel, and says he’s Ten. Taeyong smiles sadly because the man is just on drugs, but it still feels warm all over. He watches Ten drift back to sleep and smiles, finally at peace now that he knows he’s out of the danger zone. He holds Ten’s hand while he sleeps and thinks about destiny. 

Taeyong is twenty five, and he has a much bigger cake now that wasn’t stolen by Yoongi. Ten made this one, and it’s awful but they still eat it because it’s becoming a tradition, and he looks over his family, happy and content. It’s almost enough but not quite because he’s been avoiding thinking about his attraction to a certain man and it’s taking its toll. Ten leads him away from the crowd when everyone is already drunk and loud, and his hands are shaking as he confesses something he’s never told anyone before — and Taeyong feels like the happiest idiot in the world as he says the words back, and Ten tastes like the love Taeyong feels, and his hands are the solid grounding presence on Taeyong’s waist, and he gets lost in him and refuses to ever go back. 

Taeyong is twenty six, and they’re celebrating Ten’s birthday — twenty four years of his perfect existence, as Taeyong puts it, mumbling into Ten’s skin because he’s definitely a lightweight, and he hears Yoongi argue about something with Yukhei somewhere inside the room while they’re smoking on the balcony, and he knows Yoongi is still trying to find out how Yukhei got inside their hotel a year ago when nobody can even check in here — and Lucas just came in one day inside the pool in his slippers, causing everyone to lose their shit and eventually just offer him a job because he somehow gets inside every place he wants to, and Yoongi tries to crack his secret every time they get drunk, and it always ends the same with Yoongi angrily pointing his finger at him while squinting his drunk eyes and seething something along the lines of: _“But how the fuck did you get in here, after all?”_ and Yukhei just blinking at him like an owl and smacking his lips and murmuring: _“I walked in?”_. They always scream at him in despair, trying to know _where_ he did it, and he just pouts and says _“You know, right there!”_ , and it’s just a frustrated collective groan because they _don’t fucking know_ , and Taeyong laughs because he fucking loves every single one of those losers, and Ten is warm next to him, his skin tasty under his lips, and he nibs at it to make Ten laugh. 

He got some news today — there’s a new unit at the Kim’s precinct, and they’re so secretive he wasn’t able to get anything but the surname of their leader, and he doesn’t let himself dwell on it because there’s plenty of people with the last name “Kang”, and he’s just spiraling, and it’s his boyfriend’s birthday, so he won’t let himself think about anything but him. He presses closer to Ten, making a content sound, and Ten’s fingers in his hair feel like everything he needs. He’s twenty six, he has this entire city at his feet, he’s drunk and has found the true love of his life, and it’s finally enough.

///

“It took me a few months and a lot of research,” Taeyong finishes off, his voice raspy. He’s only told them the details of their relationship and her status, but the trip down the memory lane feels like icicles on his skin. “But now I’m sure it’s her. Jackson mentioned they have their own funding, and it makes sense — her father was always loaded. So much for not using his fortune, I guess.”

There’s a deafening silence in the room, and he’s afraid to look up at Ten because no matter how much he’s told them about Seulgi over the years, it was still always scraps and pieces. Never the whole story. He thought he left it in the past.

“What’s her end goal?” Jungkook asks, and Taeyong looks at him, grateful to find only understanding and devotion. Jungkook was there. He picked up the pieces of Taeyong’s soul, but he still didn’t expect him to react this calmly — he’s been sitting on the secret for months now, putting them all more and more in danger just because he refused to admit his crazy ex was back in town. 

“I’m guessing the complete destruction of the Underworld,” he says gravely, remembering the board in the precinct. Everyone was there, not only them. “For starters.”

Taehyung sighs loudly from where he’s wrapped around Jungkook, and it’s nice — to see how they fit. He’s still afraid to look at Ten. 

“Then we better prepare,” Tae says calmly, and Taeyong sees the traces of the future leader on his calm face. “We’ll need to bring Yoongi up to speed and start acting.”

Ten clears his throat, and he finally makes himself look at him, but there’s no point — Ten is staring at the wall, his tired face grim and pale. Shit. It’s not like Taeyong cheated on him — he never would, but it still feels like he’s been lying to him for years. He still is. The matter of Johnny is still bright on his mind, and it’s nowhere near to being solid enough to bring into the light. He wishes he could touch Ten’s hand and make sure they’re fine, but it seems too fragile and dangerous for now. 

“We’ll need those weapons sooner than expected, then,” Ten says, voice even and cold. Taeyong keeps himself from flinching. “I’ll contact Nemesis and arrange the transfer. By the time Yoongi comes back, I’ll already know the time of the meeting.”

It feels like a little piece of Taeyong’s soul gets ripped away when Ten turns around and leaves the room without even looking at him. With every step he takes, there’s something escaping Taeyong’s lungs and chasing after him, yet his own body stays put, glued to his place by guilt and a memory. 

_”So were you ever in love before me, angel?”_

_“No. You’re the first one in my life to have my heart so fully.”_

X

They spend the night at the apartment. Yoongi sends for Hyungwon to return to his guarding position and doesn’t leave the balcony until someone gets there. Hyungwon is occupied someplace else, so Yoongi introduces Jimin to Kihyun — another one of the Monsta crew guys who smiles and threatens to poison someone if they try to break in a span of twenty seconds, and Jimin is lowkey terrified and highkey in awe. 

The morning comes with Jimin waking up first for once and staring at Yoongi for ten minutes, making sure his stitches are okay and the trembling feeling inside of Jimin is still there. Both check out, so he takes a shower and cooks breakfast, feeling nostalgic because Taehyung isn’t here, and who knows when he will be — he seems to have taken up residence at the Hotel, ignoring every precaution they put out. 

There’s no point anymore, to be honest, to be so secretive. They FaceTimed Jungkook and Taeyong last night, and Orpheus brought them up to speed about the whole _Red Velvet_ ordeal. Taeyong said there was no information on Taehyung on the board, but it would be reckless to assume they don’t know who Hades is dating, so now, ironically, the best option is for Taehyung to be supervised at all times, with Jimin having separate guards. He honestly doesn’t know how their system works, but Ten appeared halfway through their call, informing Yoongi about the new spreadsheet he compiled to keep every inch of the territory observed at all times. Jimin noticed something strange in the way Ten avoided even accidentally touching Taeyong while he was showing his board to Yoongi, and he didn’t know if it would be appropriate to try and ask about that in the middle of something of a work meeting. Ten also set up the meeting with the girls Yoongi once told Jimin about — Nemesis and Tyche — to retrieve the weapons they stored to avoid being caught off guard. Yoongi told them about the results of their meeting with Jungwoo, his face still grim when he brought up the chemicals part. 

Taeyong showed up in the middle of the night with the devil twins, carrying the boxes full of Jimin’s notes, justifying it by “It’s better that you go through them in your familiar environment, and you’re going to be spending more time here now that Yoongi is awake, so.” If Jimin was to guess, he’d think Tae just did it to get away from the Hotel, and he tried to get him to talk about it on the balcony, but he just bit his lips and said he fucked up. Wooseok and Jinho left for their patrol duty, and Taeyong crashed on their couch. Jimin tried texting Ten but there was no response for hours, even though he read his message, before he woke up at six in the morning to a single _“what do you do when you realize your life isn’t a fucking fairytale it’s just an ordinary tale of a fuckup getting his one accidental chance”_. Jimin sighed and sent back a rather depressing _“you suck it up and remember that you can still make your tale fairy. and talk to taeyong.”_

He walked out of his bedroom, ready to make Taeyong talk only to discover that he was nowhere to be seen. He sighed and started making breakfast.

His hands are still shaking. They’ve been doing that non-stop since gods know when, and he’s getting seriously tired. Jungwoo’s words come to mind — he was fed something for weeks, ingesting the poison without even noticing it. Just two weeks ago, he almost drank poisoned water without even noticing it, and he still doesn’t remember how that bottle ended up in his fridge. How could he not notice drinking some potions? He always eats his own food, and if it isn’t cooked by him or Taehyung — who is definitely not even on the list of suspects — it’s from the canteen, and he doubts their lunch lady is skilled enough to slip poison into his plate of the food she serves to everyone. He never drinks from someone else’s hand, he always checks his groceries to be untampered, and he’s generally extremely picky about what he puts inside his body. He’s not starving himself like some models, but there’s still a particular diet you have to follow to be able to dance gracefully without falling down from malnutrition. He eats fruit — hard to poison that, and drinks a lot of smoothies because they’re convenient and high on calories. 

His hand freezes in the middle of mixing the eggs. 

Smoothies. 

The ones that Tony always brings him, homemade with care and spice, as he puts it. He feels a wave of shock go through his body as he drops the whisk, stepping away until his back hits the counter, his hand flying to his mouth. 

“Jiminnie?”

He looks up, seeing Yoongi’s puffy sleepy face through the mist in his eyes. Yoongi looks worried as he takes his hand in his, getting it away from his mouth. His eyes are searching Jimin’s face, anger slowly waking up in them. 

“What happened?” He asks grimly, and Jimin takes a deep breath to calm himself. 

“Do you remember…” He says weakly and closes his eyes, getting his shit together and starting again. “Do you remember when we came here after Jungwoo got the curse out of me?”

Yoongi frowns, recalling the day, and nods. 

“Yeah, that dipshit Tony was here, waiting for you,” he notes with a disgruntled expression. 

“Yeah,” Jimin confirms quietly. “He brought me a smoothie. The one I couldn’t drink because it felt like it was burning my lips.”

Yoongi freezes, his hold on Jimin’s fingers tightening. He winces but doesn’t pull back. 

“And your lips were still covered in those herbs Jungwoo used,” Yoongi says gravely, and Jimin blinks in surprise. He didn’t even think about it before, but it seems right.

“He knew I didn’t remember him,” Jimin says, heating up. “He was the one who pumped me full of this shit and kept giving it to me so that I wouldn’t remember anything and kept dating him. But was he alone? Did he have help?”

Yoongi steps away then, clenching his fist and looking around him in anger. Jimin guesses what he wants to do and goes after him with a sigh. 

“Please, don’t break my furniture,” he pleads, feeling somehow fond even in the midst of his revelation, the anger still at the back of his mind, fusing with every memory of touching Tony, kissing him, sleeping with him, and just being near the person that controlled his every movement. 

He feels sick. Sick and hurt, and betrayed and angry. He feels so fucking mad. 

“He used you for months,” Yoongi breathes out, and his own rage is palpable in the air, and Jimin sees it in bright red around him, illuminating his face and hair, shining as if through the cracks on his skin, and Jimin is drawn to it. He feels it resonating in him, and he needs to touch it — and so he puts his hand on Yoongi’s shoulder, grounding them both by the contact. 

“I’m going to kill him,” Yoongi seethes, and Jimin knows he means it. 

“No.” He purses his lips, taking a deep breath through his nose, and shakes his head. Yoongi looks at him, ready to argue, but Jimin cuts him off. “I’m not trying to protect him. But he doesn’t seem like a person who could pull it off by himself. Someone helped him, Yoongi, and if we put all the shit that’s been happening ever since Taehyung came to the Underworld together, there’s an obvious connection.”

Yoongi still doesn’t look convinced, and Jimin breathes out in frustration, turning him fully to look at his face. They’re the same height, he notices for the hundredth time. 

“Someone is after me,” he repeats Yoongi’s words back at him, their conversation in the car still ringing in his head. “And Tony isn’t the key figure here. He’s just a pawn. And I need to find out what he knows before I can let you go all Ares on him.”

It’s strange how fast his mind went through the betrayed anger to the collected planning, but he’s tired of everyone deciding for him. He needs to take control. Better late than never. 

Yoongi closes his eyes briefly, and Jimin watches with quiet satisfaction how the blood red color subsides, fading into the familiar soft crimson. He rubs his eyes and winces when his hand shoots with pain. Jimin rubs the cast softly, pursing his lips, and touches Yoongi’s chin. 

“Trust me on this, please,” he whispers, and here it is again — the moment when they just look at each other, nothing else mattering but the bond that grows stronger every day. 

“Alright.” Yoongi sighs. “But I want to be here when you talk to him. And gods help me if this bitch tries something…”

“Okay, first of all, cool it on the toxic masculinity,” Jimin jokes, pinching the muscles of his right arm with a smile. “Second of all, he won’t talk if you’re staring at him like you want to decapitate him.”

“But—”

“You’ll stay in my room,” Jimin placates him, coming closer and putting both his hands on Yoongi’s neck, smiling when he feels hands on his waist. “You’ll hear everything and intervene if something goes wrong.”

They’re close now, and some part of Jimin knows it’s too close and too intimate for how friends behave, but it just feels nice, and he can use a few good moments in the mess that his life is right now. Yoongi nods with a sigh, and Jimin smiles, every cell in his body feeling shamelessly content. 

And it doesn’t feel wrong, that’s the thing. He was afraid that the clarity would disappear when he wakes up, but it was still there — the clear understanding that he’s getting control over his mind, the extent of his empathy growing stronger with every minute. He no longer guesses what people might feel at this moment — he knows for a fact that Yoongi feels breathless with Jimin in his arms. And it makes him feel giddy. 

“Hey,” he says softly, suddenly brave and reckless. Yoongi raises his eyebrows, looking at him like he can start talking about elephant breeding and he’ll still be invested like it’s the most interesting topic ever. “What are we?”

Yoongi pouts his lips in thought. 

“Specks of dust flying aimlessly in the vast darkness of space,” he drawls, and Jimin hits him lightly on the bicep, not amused by the sly smirk. 

“I’m serious,” he whines, knowing it always has a desirable effect, and feels giddy when it works and Yoongi sighs, squeezing his waist. He looks Jimin right in the eyes. 

“We’re friends, just like you wanted.” It’s quiet and stable, and the most pleasant of truths. Jimin strokes his neck, feeling the bumpy tattoo scars with his fingers. He bites his lips, lost at words. His courage only lasted this long. “Why are you asking, Jiminnie?”

“What if… what if I told you...” He frowns, trying to calm his racing heart. It all suddenly turned around — from being mad at his boyfriend to blushing in front of his not-boyfriend. Gods. He’s pathetic. “Fuck, nevermind.”

He steps away, flinching at the loss of contact, and gets back to mixing the eggs. He focuses on his cooking, not letting his mind wander back to the place it was just a few moments ago. He feels Yoongi stand there, watching him intently, but he stares at the bowl, not looking up. Eventually, Yoongi sighs and leaves, and Jimin stays frozen until he hears the shower running. 

He suddenly feels drained, and he plumps down on the floor, burying his face in his hands. What was that? Did he want to confess? Confess what, exactly?

That he likes him in a way you don’t like your friends, and he wants them to be this close more often than when one of them is on the verge of a breakdown, and wants to stop second-guessing his desires to kiss Yoongi? 

Yeah, something like that. 

He feels ready and not ready at the same time. He remembers his promise to pick his battles, but it seems like those battles pick him, attacking his mind without his consent or will, and he’s slowly giving in. 

He can’t have it all at the same time. 

It used to be simple — date a perfect guy, get a perfect degree, lead a perfect life. He remembers what Taeyong told them yesterday, and he feels the traces of his own wishes and ambitions in the story Taeyong omitted in favor of talking about his past with Seulgi — the one of a boy who just wanted to be left alone, free and independent, building his own bright future. The boy got tangled in the wrong mess, and his life turned out spectacular anyway, but it took all the paths he deemed wrong when he was young. 

Following the yellow brick road to the Underworld was never in Jimin’s plans. In fact, it was the opposite of it, yet his glass shoes kept stepping on it, coming back to its curves time after time, and now he fears he’s too hooked on hanging out with his own brave lion. Jesus. He’s losing it, isn’t he?

He makes himself stand up and finish the breakfast, and when Yoongi comes out back into the living room, he pretends that nothing happened and keeps talking about the ways he’ll get the information he needs out of Tony. Yoongi looks grim but plays along. Jimin is grateful. 

The clock is nearing three, and he’s jittery, panicking and anticipating, and Yoongi takes his hand in his, and when Jimin hopes it’s all there is, Yoongi turns to him with determination all over his face. Jimin closes his eyes briefly and sighs. 

“Please, don’t,” he starts weakly. 

“We need to,” Yoongi contradicts, and Jimin throws his head back on the couch, turning off the TV. Yoongi is waiting until he looks at him, but Jimin is stubborn and embarrassed, so he’ll be damned if he looks away from the ceiling. “That’s what adults do, Jimin. They talk about their feelings.”

Jimin cringes and groans, throwing a hand over his eyes, feeling his cheeks heating up. Yoongi sighs. 

“Jiminnie,” he starts, and Jimin hears his undoing in that damn nickname. “You and I are in a constant state of barreling toward a misunderstanding. I think we’re past the point it was beneficial to hide something. In fact, it always backfires.”

He can’t help but agree. Every time they think they understand each other, some shit always happens to disrupt that peace. They seem to get each other so well on an emotional level, but when it comes to talking — kindergarteners fighting over a potty spot would have more luck in reaching an understanding.

“Let’s just leave it like that, it’s fun,” he murmurs in a hopeless attempt to prevent the conversation he isn’t sure he wants to have right now. 

“It is,” Yoongi agrees, but there’s something bitter in his voice. “But I’ve been running myself thin by second-guessing everything I do and say around you. And what I said yesterday…”

There’s a pause, and Jimin wants to sneak a peek, but he still feels too embarrassed and flustered, and honestly — why is he such a middle school boy with a first crush? He needs to face it. He thought he still had time, but if _Yoongi_ is bringing it up, it means that every deadline has long passed. 

“I meant it.” It’s quiet and shaking, as if he, the mighty Ares, is afraid. “And I need to know what you feel, Jimin, otherwise… Shit. We need to set it straight. So you better say what you want now or bury it forever.”

How poetic, Jimin thinks with a sigh as he takes his arm off his eyes and drops it on the couch. His other palm is still holding Yoongi’s, and isn’t it all fucking obvious already? They’re holding hands while having a _serious_ conversation. This is some Taeyong and Ten level of commitment, he muses before he remembers that even those guys have their ups and downs. It seems so easy — giving advice to Ten, figuring out what Taeyong feels, fixing everyone’s love life, but he’s powerless when it comes to his own feelings. 

It suddenly seems so simple. There’s no more poetic bullshit about feeling the pull or facing the wall, he can’t justify anything by the mystical power of the universe or the bonds of magical curses. It’s just them. Yoongi and Jimin. 

“I don’t want to lie to you by saying that being friends is all I want,” Yoongi grits out when Jimin’s silence is becoming ridiculously long. “And I know you…”

“What more do you expect, Yoongi?” Jimin interrupts him. He suddenly feels so fucking sad, like he can’t even deal with this simple thing — knowing what he needs, what he wants, what he feels. He’s pathetic and indecisive, and it’s so fucking nice like it is — this constant, calmness, stability. He’s constantly going through the emotional whiplash, but at least it also is stable. He wants to throw himself away. 

“I don’t _expect_ anything.” Yoongi breathes out, and Jimin finally makes himself look at him. Yoongi is looking back, raw emotions in his eyes for the first time since Jimin met him — because it’s the first time he’s actually looking for them and not denying they exist. “What I _want_ is to be with you. In any capacity that you allow.”

Just like that. 

So. 

Damn. 

Simple. 

Jimin breathes out a chuckle in disbelief. How did he do it? How did he manage to speak those words without having a freakout?

Some part of his mind reminds him it’s not the part he should be focusing on, because Yoongi just essentially confessed to him for the second time in two days, and Jimin just sits here, frozen, staring at his determined eyes and finding his own fear not reflected but met there. Yoongi is ready to take every little insecurity of his and crush it with his affection, and it feels so fucking powerful and too much, and Jimin feels his breathing quicken as he shakes his head, denying the truth slamming into his own mind. 

“What do _you_ want, Jiminnie?”

What a good fucking question, he thinks, suddenly angry, but not at Yoongi but at himself — because he knows the answer to that perfectly well, and it’s sitting on the tip of his tongue, burning like the poison he was fed with. 

“What I want doesn’t necessarily equal what I can have.”

Yoongi holds his hand tighter, moving closer, and Jimin looks down on their palms, and it makes sense, it feels like something from another life is singing inside of him, telling him — here it is. Take it. The familiar power at the back of his mind gently nudges him forward, begging for him to accept Yoongi so that Ares can be accepted too, and he wants to give them all he has, but he’s not enough, he will never be enough. 

“ _I want you._ ” He breathes out with something akin to sob, and Yoongi is impossibly close now, and his mind feels on fire, and he looks up to see something strong and great on Yoongi’s face, something that blooms inside his own bloodstream.

“You can have me,” Yoongi whispers, and he’s suddenly so close that Jimin feels his breathe on his lips, and everything he wants is to lean in and feel them — and he doesn’t. 

Yoongi’s phone signals a text, and he sighs in frustration, while Jimin tries to decide if he’s grateful or heartbroken. 

“It’s probably Kihyun,” Yoongi murmurs, and Jimin nods. Tony is here. 

Not a second later, the doorbell rings, and he leans back, his hands still on Yoongi’s neck — they traveled there without his own will, as it seems, and he looks at his face — the one he’s…

He makes himself think it. 

The one he’s falling in love with. 

Jimin jerks away and stands up, fixing his t-shirt, hearing how Yoongi sighs and goes to his room, closing the door behind him. Jimin closes his eyes, hooking his mind over that one _thought_. He can do it. 

///

It takes ten minutes for them to get past the small talk stage. Jimin feels ready to get everything Tony knows out of him, but he’s still rattled from the talk with Yoongi — and he simply doesn’t know how to start. 

“And so dad promised to help out,” Tony goes on with the excuse of his absence for so long when Jimin needed him. “But in exchange, I had to pull a few extra shifts at the hospital, and so…”

“What did you give me?” Jimin interrupts him, finally fed up with his bullshit. 

Tony just stares at him, and Jimin calmly sips his tea, meeting his gaze. He tries to remember the times he felt something warm for this person. It now seems like a distant, badly directed dream. They’re silent for a while, and Jimin sighs. 

“What did you give me?” He repeats, calmly putting his cup on the table and leaning back in the armchair. Tony is on the couch, his hands crossed before him. Jimin chose these positions strategically, thinking about the way Jungkook organized his office. This way, he clearly sees Tony with the light from the balcony illuminating his face, and Jimin’s own stays hidden in the shadow. It’s a gloomy day, and it perfectly resonates with his mood. 

“It had to be strong,” he notes with a dark chuckle. “To completely erase my memories of you from the autumn.”

He watches Tony’s face, looking for anything, any sign that will let him snap and scream, but he seems collected and cool, and Jimin grits his teeth. 

“But you had to keep feeding it to me, didn’t you?” He tilts his head in ironic mockery. “For weeks, even months, to keep me pliant and lovely, your perfect little boyfriend that would do anything you wanted as long as you kept making those smoothies.”

“You’re twisting it,” Tony interrupts him, his jaw set. “You didn’t do anything you didn’t want to deep down. I just… Enhanced those wishes.”

Jimin feels sick. He takes a deep breath to fight off the nausea. 

“So it went like this.” He crosses his hands on his lap, controlling his breathing to remain calm for as long as he can. “We meet in August. You do something to me that makes me completely… Obsessed with you rather than with something I was doing before. We date, and it’s all nice and cool until we come to the Halloween party, and something happens there that makes me break up with you after.”

Tony is silently watching him, not adding anything but not contradicting him either. He wants to elaborate on the Underworld connection to all of this because that’s how it started, but as soon as he even thinks about the words, there’s a voice in his head he hasn’t heard in a while. 

_Don’t. Don’t mention it._

He softly gulps on air, surprised but rejoiced at hearing him again. He guesses the voice went away as soon as its real-life counterpart became something of a daily companion for Jimin. He tentatively reaches out to the presence in his mind and feels it welcoming and embracing him. He feels calmer. 

“Fast forward to December,” he continues in a stable voice. Tony still hasn’t moved. “You see me at a party, and you decide to try again, and it’s so fucking convenient that you already know I don’t remember you.”

“I visited you in the hospital,” Tony finally says, his voice gruff, his eyes set on Jimin. It feels intrusive. “You don’t remember it, but you woke up at some point and didn’t recognize me. I thought I could use it.”

He’s admitting it so calmly Jimin has to restrain himself from punching him. 

“So you just saw a guy that asked you to leave his life, and you thought — hey, why wouldn’t I force myself back into it when he doesn’t know I already hurt him?” His voice starts to shake, and he takes a deep breath, containing his hysteria. 

“I didn’t hurt you!” Tony suddenly screams out, and Jimin grips the armrest in fear. There’s a sound coming from his bedroom, and he imagines Yoongi restraining himself from walking out. No. He can’t. 

Tony takes a deep breath and rubs his eyes. 

“You just got confused,” he grits out. “By that fucking asshole from the Underworld.”

Everything freezes, Jimin’s lungs constricting from the cold. What?

“You saw him on Halloween,” Tony growls, his eyes wild. “We went out to smoke, even though I always hated this habit of yours, and those… The criminals were riding into the Street, and you saw one of them on the bike, and it was like you weren’t yourself. You tried to go there but I held you back, and it was like you lost it. You started screaming at me to let you go and let you tell him something, but I couldn’t do it.”

“Why?” Jimin whispers, desperately wishing to claw that memory out of the block in his mind to know — why did he want to see Yoongi so badly if he didn’t remember him by that point? Or did he?

“Because you were high, Jimin!” Tony exclaims, his movements frantic. “At least I think you were. I didn’t see you take anything but it looked like you were tripping on acid, and I had to drag you back inside. As soon as you had some water in you, it went away, and you calmed down. But you weren’t the same since.”

Something clicks in his mind, but it’s racing too fast for him to try and pin it down. His mouth is dry, and his fingers are shaking. He clenches them into a fist. 

“You never even explained why you wanted to break up,” Tony murmurs with a frown, his eyes lost in the memory. “And when we met again at that frat party, you looked at me… Fresh. There was nothing holding you back, nothing tying you to that fucking place, and yeah, I took advantage of it.” He sounds bitter but not regretful. “But I never forced you into anything. I just saw an opportunity, and I used it.”

Jimin tries to see it from his perspective, use the same reasons he did to justify it, but no matter how he looks at it — it’s still revolting and sick, and he rubs his chest to rid it of anxiety. 

“What about the potion?” He whispers hoarsely. He wishes he was holding Yoongi now, taking at least some of the strength he needs.

“You started having nightmares,” Tony starts, and Jimin immediately calls bullshit. He didn’t start having them. He never stopped. He still lets him talk. “And you talked in your sleep, murmuring some shit... Like you were remembering, but it was hurting you.” It wasn’t. It was liberating him. “Some folks at the hospital talked about a guy who could hook people up with some drugs without having to go to the pharmacy or those witches at the Underworld and Olympus.”

“Hypnos isn’t a witch,” Jimin corrects him automatically, regretting it right away when he sees the anger in Tony’s look. 

“Yeah, you’d know, wouldn’t you?” He murmurs pettily, and Jimin gets a primal urge to bare his teeth. “Anyway, I found him and asked for something that would keep you calm. He never showed his face and always dealt with cash. Told me to mix it with something sweet for the first few weeks, because later you’d stop sensing it altogether.”

Jimin thinks about the poison in the water. 

“Why did you do it?” He asks gravely, a big mental board in front of him, dozens of dots connecting with a single thread to Tony’s name. 

“Because I love you.”

He wants to vomit.

“And I wanted you to love me back.”

There’s pain and vulnerability in Tony’s voice, but all Jimin wants to do is punch him, throw him out, scream at him until his throat is raw. That’s not love. That can’t be it. 

“That’s not how it happens, Tony,” he whispers, looking up at him through the tears in his eyes. He hates crying, but this time it feels natural because his heart is breaking over something it has never belonged to. “When you love someone, you don’t poison them for days on end, making them forget who they are just to keep them by your side. You don’t lie to them.”

Is he talking to Tony, or to both of them? Who is he convincing here?

“You accept them for who they are.” He stands up, hugging his frame, taking the strength from the soothing presence in his mind, the one that wraps around him like a soft blanket, ready to hold and protect. “You love them because they don’t change to fit your needs but because they’re already exactly what you need. And you don’t need a fucking potion to make them enjoy being with you.”

In his case, the potion kept him from enjoying being with someone he needed. In his case, he’s afraid to love exactly because it’s what he needs. And what Tony did to him, to his mind and his heart — is exactly what convinced him he doesn’t deserve anything better. 

“I’m sorry,” Tony breathes out, standing up too and taking a step closer, but Jimin steps away, shaking his head. 

“Get out,” he grits out, trembling. “Just… Get the fuck out if you don’t have anything to add.”

“I have.” Tony stays put, his hands balled up in fists by his sides. “When I first met you in August, you were a mess. You kept spacing out, and you cried randomly, and you were a weak pathetic mess that _I_ put together.” His jaw is tight, black anger radiating from him. “Not your precious Taehyung, not those bitches from the parties you kept going to, not your wreck of a father. _Me_ , Jimin.”

He feels like he wants to fall down and scream, but in the middle of the raging storm he sees another piece of information — by the time Tony found him, he had already lost his memory of the Underworld, meaning that he was right — the guy in front of him is just a weak pawn that used an opportunity created for him by someone else. He’s not that big and scary monster — he’s just an idiot who decided to play god without having the guts to handle it. 

“Do you expect me to thank you?” He seethes, the fear getting slowly replaced by the familiar anger, fueled by Ares inside of him. “Well, fucking thanks, Tony. The only good thing you did for me is paying off that debt, and even that wasn’t your own money — just your daddy shuffling a few papers.”

He walks around the table, standing close to him, looking up at his face but feeling like the taller one here. He hates him. Gods, how much he hates him.

“We’re done here.” He scowls. “I’m breaking up with you, fucking again, and trust me when I say that this one will stick.”

Tony is breathing heavily, his jaw set. 

“Because of that guy, eh?” He murmurs with a sarcastic smile. “Your homeless bitch that will deal with all your issues?”

Jimin feels likes laughing — and he does, because it feels fucking amazing not to feel even an ounce of that ethically induced guilt. He’s free now, single, officially and finally, and if he wants to laugh at his ex because this bitch is jealous in the middle of the mess they’re in — he will. 

“You’re a fucking idiot, Tony,” he breathes out when the fit passes, and oh how light he feels. “You don’t know shit. And now leave.”

Tony chews on his words, his jawline moving, but — finally — he steps back, grabbing his backpack and walking backward to the door. 

“You’ll regret this.”

Jimin raises his eyebrows, not expecting to hear _that_ out of all things. 

“Is that a threat?” He chuckles in disbelief. 

Tony shrugs, pursing his lips as he turns around, pausing for a moment.

“It’s a prediction.” 

Jimin breathes out, angry. 

“Goodbye, Tony,” he says to finalize this mess, but the man doesn’t respond. Doesn’t even turn away. 

He leaves without closing the door, and Jimin goes to it, softly clicking it close and putting his forehead on the wood, breathing out. Now that it’s done, the anger and relief mix together to create a swell of anxiety in his chest. Is he upset? Why would he? He’s finally free, and he found some answers, the truth he wanted, but something is still bitter at the back of his mind. 

_You did well._

“If only you weren’t the only one thinking that,” he whispers, but contrary to his words and the pooling of anxious itching under his ribs, he still feels light.

X

When Seokjin comes to their room deep into the night, Joonie is still awake, sitting up in bed and going through something on his tablet, a determined frown on his face that makes Jin smile. 

Joon looks up at the sound of the door opening and smiles, showing those dimples that make Jin fall for him more every day. He undresses tiredly, changing into his pajamas, and drops down on the bed, humming softly when he feels Joon’s fingers in his hair.

“Hard day with the kids?” Joon asks quietly, lying down so that their faces are on the same level. 

Jin opens his eyes and smiles, pulling closer and kissing him softly. It still feels like a revelation. Even after all these years. 

“Puberty keeps hitting the youngest like a bitch,” he murmurs, recalling the fit Jisung threw today during their session. Saturdays are always reserved for therapy, an hour for every Muse, and Jisung started theirs by showing up late and insisting Chenle comes in with him. Eventually, Jaemin managed to settle everything by talking to them both outside, and Jin wonders if he’s failing them, or it’s a standard occurrence for the teenagers. “It wasn’t that hard with the oldest ones, you know?”

“Well,” Joonie breathes out, kissing his eyelids. “There was one miss in the middle of all the hits.”

Jin greets his teeth. They don’t talk about it. And the fact that Namjoon is bringing it up now means he’s testing the grounds for talking about something else Jin doesn’t want to mention. 

“What is it?” He asks directly, cutting to the chase. 

His eyes are still closed, but he feels how Namjoon sighs against his skin.

“I want you to send more people over to Ggukie.”

Jin greets his teeth, fighting the frustration before it comes full force. It’s the sixth time they’re talking about it, and he feels that one of these times he won’t have any choice but to comply. 

“Darling…”

“No, Jinnie, the time for talking is over,” Namjoon interrupts, the streaks of his power underlining the gentleness of his bedroom voice. “We’ve dragged it out for long enough. Hoseok has already divided his forces, throwing exactly half of them to help the Underworld.”

“And we’re trying to compete with him, or what?” Jin opens his eyes and gets up on one elbow, looking down at Namjoon with his lips pursed. “We’re already giving all we can.”

“We can do more, and we both know that,” Namjoon contradicts, the dimples nowhere to be seen. They’re somewhat of Jin’s cheatsheet for Joon’s moods, and the fact the skin is smooth now means trouble. He strokes his cheek with his fingers, wishing for them to appear again, show themselves only to him, just like a lifetime ago when they were just getting to know each other. Joon intercepts his hand and kisses his fingers. “I feel like I’m letting the family down.”

“Family…” Seokjin whispers hoarsely, feeling all the choices he’s made in his long life coming down to this simple thing — people he never expected to become a family. “What is it to you, my love?”

Joon blinks slowly, looking at him closely. 

“You.” He states, and it warms Jin’s heart. “Hobi. Ggukie. Lisa. Taemin. And everyone these people love.”

He takes Jin’s palm lower, putting it over his heart, where Seokjin’s initials are resting black against his tanned skin. Jin sighs. He really doesn’t want to do this. If only he could tell his Joonie all the reasons why.

“I still think we should let it unravel how it is,” he murmurs. “Meddling won’t do anyone any good.”

How hypocritical of him. He sighs. How many time has he regretted starting this game? How many time did he wish it could all be over with the snap of his fingers?

“It’s not meddling.” Namjoon gets up on one elbow, making Jin lie down so that he could lean over him. “It’s helping my little brother. Hopefully, it will be enough to make up for the times I wasn’t there for him.”

He leans in to kiss Jin, and he returns it, of course he does, and it the arms of his lover, he feels whole again. Only Joon knows him the way he does, only Joon can catch him when he’s falling, ready to hold him and protect him, and only Joon will be able to forgive him if the truth ever comes out. Only Joon would understand. 

“Alright,” he whispers between kisses, stroking Joonie’s neck, feeling his smile against his lips. “I’ll send whoever I can on Monday.”

Joon hums in satisfaction, his hands traveling down Jin’s torso. 

“I’ll overlook the list,” he says, and it would sound like an order to anyone else if he weren’t on top of his subordinate right now, getting ready to do some really unprofessional shit. Seokjin snorts, hitting his bicep. 

“Micromanager.” He means it as an insult, but it’s hard for him to ever stay mad at his Zeus. 

The thought sobers him up for a while, and he purses his lips with a sigh, chasing it away. Not now. Hopefully, not ever. 

There’s a traitorous voice at the back of his mind that remind him that the day will come when he’ll have to pay, but it is not today. 

X

“I just don’t get it, okay?” Taeyong whines for the twelfth time, and Jimin pinches the bridge of his nose, fighting the oncoming headache. 

They’re on their way to the _Blackpink_ to get the weapons Yoongi and Jisoo hid away when they started their plan of fooling the _Red Velvet_ , and Jimin isn’t even supposed to be here — and yet here he is, simply because Yoongi has to be present, and these days, where Yoongi goes, Jimin follows. Because one of them is a pathetic mess and the other one doesn’t let that mess be guarded by anyone else. 

Right now, Yoongi is in another car with Jungkook, Ten, and the devil twins, and it happened for two reasons. First one was Ten basically yeeting his ass into the driver’s seat of an already filled out car and starting the engine before anyone could protest. And the second was Jimin performing the same move and seething at Johnny to drive to end up with him, Taehyung, Taeyong, and avoid riding with Yoongi. 

The things are awkward. Yes. That’s the word.

When Jimin managed to get his mind to cooperate after breaking up with Tony — an amazing experience, ten out of ten would perform again — he spent the rest of the day actively avoiding admitting the fact that he told Yoongi that he wants him. Yoongi didn’t press, gods bless his soul, but Jimin could feel him itching to bring it up. Instead, they talked about what they found out from Tony, and their plans for the next day, because yes, apparently now it’s “their” plans, and honestly — fuck it all. Jimin went to sleep, stubbornly turning away from Yoongi and snoring over-dramatically, feeling a mix of annoyance and amusement coming from the living room where Yoongi stayed to wait until Johnny arrived for his shift.

Jimin is a mess. And a coward. He admits it readily because it helps him to keep avoiding _the topic_.

And it’s not like he was specific, right? For all Yoongi knows, the end of that sentence could be _“I want you to rub my tummy.”_

Oh gods. He despises himself, he really does.

This morning he put extra effort into engaging Johnny into a conversation until they had to leave for the Underworld, where his cunning escape plan went rather spectacularly. Or not, because the downside of avoiding Yoongi is being stuck with Taeyong, who, apparently, got over his brooding stage and entered the whining one. 

“It’s not like I lied to him, you know?” Taeyong whines again from the front seat, and Jimin exchanges a look with Taehyung. He’s been at it ever since they started the trip that seems to be taking forever. “I just... Neglected bringing it up.”

“Oh sweet Jesus,” Jimin groans, hooking his hand over Taeyong’s seat and leaning forward to look at his pouting face. “Every second-grader knows that not saying something when you’re asked is still lying.”

“Well, he didn’t ask!” Taeyong exclaims, but he immediately deflates and crosses his arms on his chest. 

“Oh, didn’t he?” Taehyung asks sarcastically, and Jimin points his finger at him, signaling that he supports that, his eyes wide. 

Taeyong sighs loudly and closes his eyes, rubbing his forehead. 

“Technically, I told him the truth,” he murmurs with a pout. “He’s the only one I’ve ever loved so much.”

“That wasn’t the question, though, was it?” Jimin raises his eyebrows pointedly, recalling how Taeyong told them about the conversation he had with Ten when they got together — the one about being in love and committing. The same one Jimin is kicking and screaming to avoid having with certain gangsters.

“I mean...” Taeyong sighs, looking longingly at the car in front of them, where the others are riding. “He knows why I did it, doesn’t he?”

There’s silence in the car, buffered by the soft jazz coming from the speakers. The day is gloomy but warm, and Jimin leans back, watching the buildings pass them by. 

“Why _did_ you lie?” Taehyung asks quietly, his head lazily thrown back on the headrest, his fingers playing with the engagement ring. “It’s not like he would break up with you because you dated someone before.”

Taeyong takes his time before he answers, a thoughtful frown on his face as he bites his lips. 

“We were so new,” he murmurs, shaking his head and frowning. “He told me I was the first one he’s ever really loved, and I just... I couldn’t tell him about how I was already fucked up by someone before. I felt spoiled, tarnished, and I didn’t want him to think I’m using him as some kind of rebound.”

Jimin looks down on his lap, realizing that he relates to that too much. He feels the same, and he has this same pile of shit inside of him, poisoning his insides and confidence. Only Yoongi knows it all already, and he still wants him. But does he even realize the full extent of the mess that is Park Jimin?

“For how long have you known him, Tae?” He asks quietly, sniffing. 

“Two years and counting,” Taeyong responds with a smile. “And we’ve been together for the majority of that.”

“That seems like enough time to get to know you fully.” Taehyung sighs. “And maybe, the realization that he doesn’t is what hurt him so much.”

They’re silent again, and Jimin looks at Johnny who hasn’t said the word since they got into the car. There seems to be some strain between him and Taeyong, and Jimin feels his irritation and sadness, and Taeyong’s longing to change it — but he’s reluctant. There’s something on that obsessing mind of his that’s preventing him from treating Johnny like he usually does. 

“I just wish he talked to me,” Taeyong whines, and they all groan, hearing the pouting kindergartener tone come back. “Every time I try to apologize, he just shakes his head and leaves. Like he texted me last night to come home, and I get it — because we kinda sleep better when together — but when I arrived he was pretending to be asleep. He got another nightmare, and I did what I usually do, and he didn’t push me away...”

“What was that?” Taehyung asks curious, and Jimin snorts at how Taeyong rolls his eyes. 

“It isn’t sexual, fuck off,” he deadpans. “I just sing to him.”

There’s a collective sound of endearment, and he covers his face in embarrassment at Taehyung and Jimin cooing at him. Jimin sees a slight smile on Johnny’s face.

“Anyway,” Taeyong says pointedly. “When I woke up, he was gone again. And it was the same tonight — when I came from the meeting with Kook, he was pretending to be asleep again. And you saw how he teleported into the car just to avoid riding with me.”

“I’d do the same if I knew you'd be so annoying,” Jimin murmurs, rolling his eyes.

“Well, _I’m_ happy you’re here,” Taeyong twists his body to look at him in the backseat. “Give me some freaking advice.”

Jimin chokes on air, his surprise coming out of him in the form of hysterical laughter. 

“Excuse me, do you need another rundown of my dating history?” He asks loudly. Taeyong purses his lips. 

“Well, it’s not like I can ask Yoongi!” He straightens himself back and goes back to pouting. “I don’t even want to fathom when was the last time that grandpa had sex.”

Jimin sucks in his lips, expectedly distracted by the notion. Taeyong cackles from the front, looking at him in the rearview mirror, and Jimin flips him off while poking his tongue out. Taehyung laughs at them both, rubbing his lips.

“What are you laughing at?” Jimin gasps, offended. “You told your guy you liked his hair.”

“ _And I’m marrying him._ ” Taehyung says with a smirk, shrugging innocently. They both roll his eyes at him. 

“Just give him time.” It’s quiet and soft, and shuts them all up immediately. It’s the first thing Johnny said since they got into the car, and Jimin watches how Taeyong looks at him tentatively, something warming up in his aura. 

They stop at a light, and Johnny turns to look at Taeyong, his eyes unbelievably kind. Because that’s just how he is — always kind, understanding, accepting. There’s tension between Taeyong and him, but he still wants to help, because they’re — friends. First and foremost. 

Taeyong swallows, sighing softly. 

“You think?” He asks quietly, and there’s the full force of their bond there, unbounded by the dark thoughts of Taeyong’s mind. 

“I _know_.” Johnny shrugs and turns back to the road. “Did you know for how long he had a crush on you before confessing?” 

Taeyong shakes his head slightly, raising his eyebrows, his eyes shining. 

“Four months.” Johnny smirks at how Taeyong starts blinking in surprise. “Four fucking months, Taeyong, I had to listen about every little feature of yours, and how it was the most sophisticated creation of the stars. And yeah, that’s a direct quote.”

Taeyong curls in on himself, an endeared smile playing on his lips, a blush spreading over his neck. Jimin can’t help it — he smiles himself, love always making him giddy. 

Except for his own, yeah. Not the point here.

“And it took him going over every trait of yours three times before he got it to his mind that he actually had a shot with you,” Johnny continues, a nostalgic smile on him. “And he never hoped you would respond with such… Strength. All he hoped for was at least a few weeks with you before you got enough and offered to stay friends. And he would take it.”

“I would never,” Taeyong says heatedly, sitting straighter in his seat, looking at Johnny like he can go back in time and make Ten realize how wrong he was if he stares hard enough. 

“I know that. He didn’t.” Johnny sighs heavily, frowning as he looks at the tanned windows of the car in front of them. “You don’t see it even now, you know?” He looks at Taeyong with sadness, briefly before turning back to the road. “That he still expects the other shoe to drop any second now. Not always, but sometimes, he just gets… So sad.”

They’re quiet for some time, everything Jimin feels from Taeyong being pain mixed with desire to prove Ten wrong, sprint out of the car right now to talk to him and convince him he’s everything he’ll always want. Jimin almost wants to cry from the strength of his feelings, their essence filling up the car with a sweet grape smell, and he’s surprised nobody feels it but him.

“I’m a fucking idiot,” Taeyong finally breaks the silence, breathing out, his voice wet. “And an asshole.”

“You can be, yeah,” Johnny notes, and it’s definitely about more than just Ten. Taeyong throws a guilty look at him. 

“You really think I should wait?” He whispers in a tiny voice, and Johnny chuckles. 

“I mean, you can always speed it up.” He shrugs with a smirk. “Be annoyingly sweet and caring but don’t push. He needs time to come around, but you also have to show him that he has something to come back to when his mind catches up to his heart.”

“Bring him flowers,” Taehyung says, leaning forward with a thoughtful expression. “Hyacinths to ask for forgiveness, but remember to get purple, otherwise you’ll just be confusing everyone. Also zephyranthes! They mean love and sincerity, but they’re not overdone like roses.”

“Oh, he also loves that Turkish puff pastry thing!” Johnny supplies, rubbing his neck. “They bonded over it with Mark, and I can ask him to get some?”

Taeyong blinks at them both, slightly taken aback. 

“So you suggest I get him the most cliché rom-com gifts?” He says slowly, not sure if he should mock or actually take them up on that advice. 

“Give him booze and a blowjob,” Jimin offers, contemplating if that’s appropriate for the situation. 

All three of them fall silent and look at him. He blinks, throwing his hands up. 

“What?”

“We need to talk about your wooing techniques,” Taehyung says slowly, squinting his eyes. “Otherwise you’re never getting Yoongi laid.”

Jimin chokes on air, sputtering and trying to come up with a good enough excuse that will get him out of talking about _that_. He points his fingers in the air, avoiding meeting anyone’s eyes. 

“ _My_ love life isn’t the point here,” he enunciates, throwing a hand over Taehyung’s mouth when he sees him take a breath. “And no, I’m not admitting there is one. Shut up.”

He waits until Taehyung rolls his eyes and pouts to turn to a mildly amused Taeyong.

“All jokes aside, you probably know what he needs, romantically, the best.” He tilts his head, his eyes wide as he tries to carry his point across. “So give it to him, but as Johnny said — don’t push.”

Taeyong hums thoughtfully, his gaze distant. 

“He kept eyeing that katana before it got stolen,” he muses, and Jimin breathes out in disbelief. 

“ _That’s_ your take on romance?”

“Oh, shut up.” Taeyong frowns and straightens up again, crossing his arms on his chest. 

“The bottom line is — be honest,” Johnny says as they pull up by the casino’s garage, waiting for Ten’s car to park. “Always. You know how hard it is for him to trust.”

Jimin looks out the window, watching how the others are getting out of the car, Yoongi’s eyes immediately going to the place he’s sitting at, even if he can’t see anything through the tanned glass. Jimin bites his lips, the old guilt and confusion coming back. 

Be honest, huh. 

Easier said than done. 

///

The basement that stores all the weapons is nothing short of huge. Jimin looks around in wonder, barely keeping his mouth shut as it urges to open wide at the sight of the enormous space, shelves and compartments all around, every one of them equipped with several separate sensors that shine with red and green until both Yoongi and Jisoo input their four codes each, coupled with a fingerprint and retina scan — even a freaking blood sample, and the alarm turns off, making the lights all around go on, illuminating the barn that seems endless. 

“Welcome to the _Boombayah_ ,” Jisoo announces with a great deal of pride in her voice as she gestures at the storage and smiles at them. 

“Nice name,” Taehyung comments with awe, and Rosé giggles. 

“If something goes wrong and neither Nemesis, me, or Ares deactivate the mechanism — it all goes _boom_ ,” she explains with excitement, and Jimin wonders if he’ll ever stop being surprised when he sees someone extremely cute but also undeniably terrifying around here. 

“Alright.” Yoongi claps his hands and turns to them. “Boys, our stock is on the right. Ten was efficient enough to compile a list of everything we need. You all have it, so grab everything marked with skulls — that’s ours. Go.”

Wooseok, Jinho, Johnny, and Ten disperse, large duffel bags in their hands, and Jimin watches how Taeyong follows Ten’s movements with sad eyes. He resists rolling his eyes. He’s really in no place to mock. 

“I believe we have something to tell Tyche.” Jungkook turns to Rosé with a smile as he brings Taehyung closer to him, and she squishes his cheeks with a laugh. Taehyung laughs back and shows his hands, the earring the girls gave him a few weeks back dangling in his ear, and she gasps in wonder, staring at his ring.

“You two owe me a story,” she announces, dragging both of them away to a little room Jimin can see decorated with a couch with pillows and a little table with tea and bottles on it. 

“Jimin,” Yoongi calls out, and Jimin turns to him with the most innocent expression he can master. Yoongi is clearly not amused. “Taeyong and I need to discuss something with Nemesis.”

“Okay,” he answers with a shrug and points behind him to where he saw rows or jewelry shining alluringly. “I’ll just walk around.”

Yoongi looks doubtful and kinda scared, and Jimin rolls his eyes, waving him off. 

“Promise not to run off and get poisoned again,” he says with a bitchy smirk. “Go be Ares.”

He leaves without waiting for a response and hears Yoongi sigh dramatically and throw a last phrase after him: “Almost everything there is lethal, please, don’t touch it!”

Jimin waves him off again, already immersed in a display with necklaces in it.

Here’s the thing — he loves jewelry, freaking adores it, and the fact that he’s wearing five bracelets and three rings, on top of his earrings and the everpresent sword necklace, is enough indication of that. Yet, he could never afford something he really wanted — like white gold and platinum beauties he sees under the glass, encrusted with diamond and sapphires, shining with emeralds and rubies — and so he always makes do with the trinkets and accessories he can find that cost enough to be considered precious but not enough to be made out of the real pure metal, casually allowing himself to buy something silver because he’s convinced it’s what suits him more, anyway. And even if he can rarely buy anything, he still loves looking at jewelry, enjoying the grace and pose he can picture when he imagines it on someone’s skin. Just like now — he’s reveling, drinking it all in, smiling softly as he looks at the way the lights plays on the jewels. 

He doesn’t know how much he spends there, completely immersed in studying the jewelry, but by the time he gets to the bracelets, his eyes widening at the variety, Rosé finishes dishing with Taehyung and Jungkook and comes up to him with a shy smile. He looks up at her, lost at how to behave. Nobody taught him criminal etiquette, and even though she looks like royalty more than a gang member, it still feels like he should address her by a title. 

“Please, just Rosé,” she says with a giggle, guessing his thoughts which are probably written all over his face. He chuckles, feeling himself relax. 

“I’m Jimin, but you probably already know that,” he breathes out, bowing slightly. He’s yet to meet someone who doesn’t recognize him. Fascinating. 

“I didn’t, actually.” She purses her lips kindly. “But lovely Taehyung told us about his friend who would definitely enjoy our collection. And I _have_ noticed something peculiar about Ares the last time we saw each other.”

She smiles knowingly at him, and Jimin groans with a chuckle, rubbing his neck. 

“Can we not?” He pleads with a smile. It’s surprisingly easy to talk to her, and he really enjoys it.

“As you wish!” Rosé laughs and looks down at the display he was studying. “Do you fancy anything?”

Jimin looks over the bracelets, lost at words. 

“They’re all…” He chuckles. “Exquisite.”

She purses her lips, criticizing the jewelry, her eyes squinted as she puts her finger to her chin. Jimin blinks in surprise as she looks up at him with an excited look. 

“Would you mind if I gifted you one of them?” She offers, and Jimin feels taken aback by such generosity. “Ares is an old friend, and I am positively fascinated with Taehyung, so it would feel like an honor to give something to the one they both hold so dearly to heart.”

Jimin feels something then — some wave of affection toward this woman he barely knows, the one that saw something worth noting and appreciating in him, and he wonders as to what is written about her in his notes. He wonders if Rosé would be as kind if she knew what he did last summer.

“I don’t even know what to choose,” he murmurs, still unsure if he even wants to accept it, but it seems like she doesn’t need any more answers. 

She claps her hands in excitement and walks over the display, inputting some numbers on the inner side of it, causing the glass to slide away. The jewelry shines even brighter when the light hits it directly, and Jimin stares at it, mesmerized and hypnotized. 

Rosé’s hands fly over the bracelets as she murmurs to herself, and he follows the movements of her delicate fingers with his eyes until she finally stops over one of the trinkets, the one hidden from view. 

“I’m Tyche, you know?” She says with a cryptical smile, looking at him through her eyelashes. “I bring luck, but not blindly — just to those who deserve it.”

Her tone turns from playful to a more serious one, and she picks up the bracelet she chose. It’s a precious silver piece, a slim and curved grapevine, thin enough to remain delicate but still with enough space to have rose petals scattered across three levels, ruby stones shining dimly. It’s beautiful. 

“You’re unlucky, darling,” Rosé murmurs sadly, beckoning for him to give her his hand and gently putting it through the bracelet, it’s layers fitting his skin tone as if it was made with him in mind. “And maybe, this will help you turn it around.”

Jimin caresses it with his fingers, mesmerized. 

“It’s amazing. Thank you,” he whispers and looks up, catching something sad in her eyes. “I feel like it deserves to have a name, however silly it may sound.”

Rosé smiles sadly, caressing her own jewelry with her fingers, her gaze lost in memory. 

“I don't remember how it ended up here,” she confesses with a sigh. “But there’s a legend that only the most beautiful can wear it. And if they are deserving, the bracelet will reveal its true power to them in due time.”

It sounds like a silly fairytale, but Jimin knows well how such stories can turn out to be true nightmares when neglected, and so he nods serenely, feeling how nice it feels on his wrist. He feels a sudden urge and touches his necklace, and he swears he can feel two pieces of jewelry sense each other and sing in his heart. He chuckles in disbelief, feeling the clarity become even sharper, and he looks up at Rosé to see her pink aura, liquid luck all around her. 

“It seems to agree with my choice.” She laughs happily and closes the display, walking around and hooking her hand over Jimin’s elbow. “Come, we’ll show it to Taehyungie! He’s somewhere around here choosing a ring for the Hades to wear.”

He throws a last glance at the displays as they leave, and realizes they did not suddenly lose their appeal but are shining differently now — he sees the beauty, the whole damn concept, flying over the jewelry, and it makes him wonder. 

X

When the guys finish loading the weapons into the truck Mark joins them in, and it’s time to leave, Jimin doesn’t have time to react. 

It happens quickly — one second he’s saying goodbye to Rosé, with whom they bonded quite well over the past two hours, and the next — he’s witnessing how Taeyong literally forces himself into the passenger seat next to Ten when he’s already driving away. Jimin would be impressed if he wasn’t so pissed — because Taehyung and Jungkook are also in that car along with Jinho, Wooseok and Johnny choosing to ride back with Mark, and it leaves Jimin no choice but to drop his ass into the car with Yoongi. 

They ride in the most deafening silence he’s ever found himself in. In retrospective, he’d rather suffer through another ride with whining Taeyong. 

Surprisingly, it isn’t awkward. _The thing_ is still there, hanging over them like a Damocles sword, ready to drop every second, and Jimin feels its pressure, but even so — it’s still comfortable. Yoongi’s presence is comforting. Jimin is offended. 

“It’s pretty,” Yoongi says suddenly, and Jimin looks up to see him throw a brief glance at the new bracelet. Jimin smiles softly. “It suits you.”

“Thanks,” he murmurs quietly, swallowing nervously. “Rosé chose it for me.”

“She has good taste,” Yoongi agrees, stopping at a light and turning to look at him. “Speaking of...”

He looks better. Healthier. It seems unreal, but his body is healing at record speed, his face already devoid of bruises, and the fingers on his left hand moving more freely. His ribs are still a bother, of course, and Jimin can see it in the way Yoongi flinches when he fishes something out of the inner pocket of his jacket. 

His compassion goes out the window in the second, though, when he sees what it is. 

Jimin grabs his dagger, its holster preventing him from getting cut, and stares at it in wonder. 

“But I took it back!” He whines hysterically, recalling how he brought it home and left it at his nightstand where Yoongi has probably found it. 

“Yeah, but to what end?” Yoongi scoffs, pushing the gas pedal and pulling them forward. “To have it just lying around? You’re supposed to have it on you all the time.”

Jimin frowns, his lips pursed. To be completely honest, he simply forgot the dagger existed, and it seems offending somehow, as if he doesn’t deserve now to caress the beautiful handle. 

“Well, it’s not like I know how to use it,” he murmurs and hears Yoongi sigh. 

“Yeah, about that,” he starts, rubbing his lips. Jimin finds himself looking at them. “I know I promised to teach you like weeks ago, but I didn’t forget. There just always seems to be something else to do.”

Jimin nods to himself. He knows it all himself. And he even offered for someone else to be his tutor, even though it seems bitter — the thought of it not being Yoongi. 

“But,” Yoongi breathes out firmly. “It’s time you learn how to defend yourself. If we’re ever not there to do it.”

It sounds dubious. Someone is always there, most of the time Yoongi himself, but Jimin would be lying if he said he didn’t want to know how to fight himself. Even the thought of it makes his blood sing in anticipation, some ancient instincts in him craving violence and strength it brings. It’s scary — how much he wants it, but he was just as scared to find he wanted to be a part of the Underworld, and it’s just a mild confusion now. It makes sense. 

If he ever learns that the wishes described in his notes are true, he better be prepared. And even if — and that thought brings more discomfort than imagining having someone’s blood on his hands — he chooses to part ways with everything connected to Hell, he’d still want to know how to stand up for himself. He never wants to look over his shoulder again, waiting for someone to come and rescue him. It’s empowering — to be so sure that Yoongi will always be there, but it’s also weakening. He needs to learn how to be strong himself before he can accept relying on someone he loves. 

Yeah. That. 

“You’re injured still,” he notes, looking up at how Yoongi’s cast is free of his jacket sleeve, white cloth with Jimin’s doodles all over it hanging from the wheel. “So I’ll have to wait a bit more.”

“No,” Yoongi contradicts firmly. “I’m putting Ten on it. He’s my best fighter. And he’s teaching the kids while I’m recovering, anyway.”

Jimin stays silent, contemplating how he feels about it. He likes Ten, and he trusts him to be a good enough teacher, but it’s not about him lacking something — it’s about the prospect of lessons lacking Yoongi’s presence. 

“Alright,” he says softly, trying to cover his sadness with a cough. “But hey, I thought he’s relatively new?”

Yoongi chuckles, and Jimin knows — there’s another story coming, the one behind Ten rising from a simple soldier to the one Yoongi now trusts with his crew. 

“If there was ever someone who really deserves their name, it’s Ten,” Yoongi says with a smile, and Jimin can’t look away from how it crinkles Yoongi’s eyes, painting his features with softness and shine. “He’s Calaïs, did you know? The god of wind. And hell, he moves like it. It took me no more than a month to make him as good of a fighter as I am, and I’ve been learning since I was fourteen.”

Jimin tries to imagine it. Teenager Yoongi, thin and pale, his knees scraped under the ripped jeans, his determined face slightly angry as he keeps kicking the wall, trying to build up his stamina and train his strength. He probably had bangs, Jimin thinks with amusement, simply because he was too busy running around and being a little brat to cut his hair. He suddenly wants to see his baby pictures, even though it’s almost impossible there are some. 

“He’s fast, strong, and impossible to catch,” Yoongi continues, a proud smile on his lips. He really loves his protégé. “And people like him. I think it has something to do with _him_ learning to please them since he was a teenager, but he never uses it. It’s just something about his energy.”

“Yeah, it makes sense,” Jimin murmurs, because it does. He gets it, every time he looks at Ten, he gets it. “He just has the... Vibe.”

“Precisely.” Yoongi nods, but then sighs, a smile falling from his face. “I never wanted for him to be a fighter, to be honest, or later — my personal trainee. But I had just lost three members of the crew, and he wanted to be more useful than ‘just organizing parties and being pretty.’ And when I realized it’s time for me to have a protégé, he was the only option. Johnny had just become active with me after his undercover extravaganza, Mark was too new, and Wooseok and Jinho just didn’t want the position. And so it’s Ten.”

Jimin frowns, suddenly anxious. Yoongi lost people?

“Did... did those three members die?” He asks tentatively, and Yoongi freezes for a second but then shakes his head sadly. 

“No, but it feels like they did,” he says grimly, his gaze jumping to something behind the buildings they passed. “I told you about Ten’s backstory, right? Well, the guy who owned his brothel had a few clubs in the Underworld before it had its name. When Hwitaek got rid of him, he needed someone to take over those clubs as managers. Seungri never enjoyed being a fighter, anyway, so he asked me to let him go and manage the dance club. I allowed it.”

He points to a shiny two-stories nightclub they pass with the _”Eyes, Nose, Lips”_ sign over it, his lips pursed. 

“That one is Youngbae’s now, actually,” he informs Jimin, something bitter in his eyes. “Another one of mine who wanted more freedom and independence. There was also Daesung, and he... Well, he did the best out of three, in my opinion. He turned a strip club into a restaurant.”

Usually, Yoongi sounds proud when he’s talking about his people as if he is a father who raised his kids to be outstanding people, but now there’s only sadness and some deal of bitterness in his voice. 

“You do not agree with their choices,” Jimin notes, and guesses he’s right by the way Yoongi purses his lips. 

“I don’t understand them,” he confesses. “But only because I was never wired for the life they wanted. They joined the gang out of necessity back in the day, and when it passed... They walked away.”

“Do they ever visit?” Jimin wonders, trying to recall if he saw Yoongi talk to someone who looked like a guest. 

“Nah.” He sniffs and rubs the bridge of his nose. “We see each other sometimes when there’s something to handle in their businesses because they still answer to us, but there’s no tea parties with catching up.”

Jimin hums, mulling it over. Just like that — they walked away from the gang that rose to power with their help. Yoongi has a point, of course — if you don’t belong with a certain lifestyle, one of you is going to reject the other sooner or later. They preferred to quit before it took them, and he understands the choice. 

Even if he finds it hard to imagine making the same one. He thinks about his journals. Was he really so desperate for protection of criminals? Why? And if it was the comradeship he was seeking, why wasn’t Taehyung enough?

What does he feel now?

Suppose, he figures out the way to be around Yoongi without feeling a thousand of contradicting emotions at once. Does he want to be with them? He’s making choices every day that dictate that he does yet something still hesitates and pulls back, as if the block inside him exist not only to keep off the memories, but also prevent him from seeing what he’s supposed to do. Who he’s supposed to be. 

“Are you hungry?”

Jimin blinks, focusing his attention back on Yoongi. The man looks at him briefly before turning back to watching the road. 

“The guys told me the restaurant is cooking something that sounds atrocious but will taste delicious.” Yoongi shrugs awkwardly, and Jimin squints at him, sensing some emotion but failing to identify it. “We could eat there.”

He blinks. 

The restaurant at the Underworld is one of the most expensive and elite establishments in the city, located on the nineteenth floor, giant windows providing a breathtaking panorama of the city. It’s one of the few sources of income inside the Hotel, the entrance to the club turning into the door to the VIP elevator in the light of day. The establishment system has separate elevator shafts, all the entrances into the actual building shut off save for a few emergency ones. Some people wining and dining there don’t even know that there’s criminal activity happening behind the wall, even though everybody suspects it. You don’t go to the Underworld Hotel for dinner expecting not to be searched by the entrance and guarded by people who don’t look like your usual security. 

Jimin managed to befriend a few cooks who always saved him something tasty, and he knows well that the kitchen is amazing at the Hotel. 

The thing that makes his mind come to a halt, though, is the fact that the restaurant is closed now. They’re updating the security system and rebuilding the blown up walls, and the noise and mess of the construction aren’t a really appealing sight, so all the establishments are temporarily closed until everything is shiny and pretty again. Some of the cooks — the ones Jimin befriended, actually — still come in, because someone still has to feed a whole hotel worth of gang members, but he can’t fathom why they would “cook something fancy.”

“Why, though?” He asks out loud, frowning. “Is there an occasion?”

“No,” Yoongi murmurs, shrugging again, and honestly, aren’t his shoulders tired from doing that? “The cooks just complained their skills are getting rusty, so Jungkook gave the permission to bust out the big guns.”

Jimin nods slowly, processing the information. Alright, that makes sense. And he does love eating something he didn’t have to make himself, and it would be nice to spend an evening at one of the tables of the gorgeous restaurant. But...

Shit. 

He straightens up, feeling suddenly on fire. The image of Yoongi and him sitting together at a table and enjoying a fancy meal with the entire city at their feet — looks suspiciously close to a date. 

Them. Having a date. 

Jimin feels the thought barrel into him, adding itself to an annoyingly long list of other emotions he’s keeping suppressed, and he feels bothered all over, rubbing his neck. 

Oh god, did Yoongi think about the same? Did he mean it to sound like a date? Does he want it to be one?

He’s overthinking it again. At least that doesn’t change. 

“I’d rather eat at home,” he croaks out and clears his throat. “If you don’t mind.”

Yoongi breathes out and swallows. 

“Sure. Then I’ll have a quick talk with Ten and then drive us to your place.”

Sounds like a plan. 

Yeah. 

Apart from the simple fact that, if the restaurant promised the proximity of someone else, the apartment will be nobody but them only. 

Alright. 

Maybe, not that good of a plan.

X

Tony swallows and breathes out, calming his heart. He’s done this dozen of times before, he can do it once more. Hopefully, it will be the last time. 

There’s no car this time — he sees the man’s outlines in the alley beside him, his tall frame hidden by an oversized hoodie. He’s playing with something in his hand, and Tony just hopes it isn’t a knife that will end up somewhere between his ribs. 

“Two chances,” the man grumbles, his voice tired. “You had two chances, and you fucked both of them up. Congratulations, you’re even more of a mess than I previously thought.”

He steps forward, but the man freezes in warning, and Tony halts, keeping their distance. It’s pitch dark here, despite the streetlight shining brightly just a few feet from them, and he wonders what the man is using to remain so immersed in shadows. 

“Let me try again,” he says desperately, tugging at his sleeves. “Third time’s a charm.”

There’s a short barking laugh, and he flinches from the way it drills into his skull, echoing inside his mind. 

“Too many resources to spend, too few results to harvest.” It’s spoken in a calm voice, and Tony fucking hates him. 

He can still see Jimin’s face, twisted with pain and disgust, and he wishes he still had that potion to erase his own memory this time. 

“Then what do I do next?” He asks desperately. He can’t turn back now.

“You?” He sees the guy tilt his head. “You’ve served every possible purpose, Tony. Step away. I don’t have time, nor desire, to get my hands messy with you, so just be happy you’re still alive.”

He pushes away from the wall and turns to walk away, but Tony has had enough — he lunges forward and grabs his bicep, only to immediately release it, his fingers burning as if he put them in a pot of boiling water. There’s a push, and he falls down, barely catching himself in time and preventing his head from hitting the pavement. He stands up on his elbows, and something terrifying happens then — the man leans forward, standing over him. The light from the streetlamp shines on his face, and Tony feels everything inside of him freeze. 

“It’s... It’s impossible,” he whispers, feeling like he’s dreaming or disassociating, but he can’t even move to try and check if he’s awake. 

“Everything’s possible in this city, boy,” the man grunts with a cruel smile. “I’m not going to repeat it twice. Leave and never turn back. Get back to your life, and gods help me if you get in my way again.”

Tony breathes heavily, still unable to tear his gaze away from the man’s face, his eyes hungrily taking in the features, refusing to believe what he’s seeing.

“Or do you think I don’t know about the stunt you pulled with that cage, eh?” He lowers his hands and puts it on Tony’s chest, and it burns, it burns so much that he screams out, feeling the tears spill. “Be happy I don’t want to bother getting rid of you. Just stay in the shadows, will you? Or what do you think Jimin will do if he knows the entire truth?”

He puts the hand away, and Tony gasps for air, looking down on his chest, seeing with horror the charred skin, his shirt burned through. The man steps away then, going back into the shadows, dusting off his hands. 

“Don’t hurt him,” he pleads as a last resort, no longer caring about his own safety. “Leave him alone.”

The man looks down on him with a dry chuckle. 

“No can do.” He wipes his lips. “It’s like in those chess of yours, only in reverse. To get to the pawn, I need to get rid of the King.”

Tony breathes heavily, the man’s face still burning on the insides of his eyelids, disbelief plaguing his mind. 

“Pathetic,” the man grumbles before leaving for good, and Tony is left on the pavement, feeling his chest hurt and replaying the same and same image in his head — the face that looked at him with too-familiar disgust and pity in the dark eyes.

X

Only when they’re already in the apartment does it occur to Jimin that there is no food in the house whatsoever. Last night, he threw out everything even barely edible, revolted by the possibility there were still traces of potion somewhere in there. Coming to grips with the fact that something was taken from him — some memories and feelings — was bad enough; he couldn’t afford to feel jittery every time he ate something that was bought before the breakup. 

They end up ordering pizza and eating it with some cop show playing on TV, Yoongi making fun of characters just like Taeyong did when he stayed over. It’s funny, how deprecating they are not only of the detectives but criminals too. 

“That’s not how you jimmy a lock, oh for fuck’s sake,” Yoongi mumbles with his mouth stuffed, and Jimin doesn’t even fight the endeared smile that breaks through. 

They end up on the balcony, their ever-constant meeting point, and Jimin gets a text from Taeyong. He stares at it nervously and then makes himself take a deep breath and face Yoongi, his cigarette dangling between his fingers, the setting sun painting his skin with golden. 

“Tae said to take off your bandages,” he says in a weak voice and clears his throat. “Your cracked ribs need to heal on their own, apparently, and it’s better not to have them constricted.”

They stare at each other for a few seconds, both knowing what comes next, and Jimin is terrified to hear it, yet Min Yoongi, clearly, was put on this Earth to make Jimin go mad. 

“Help me out?” Yoongi says, blinking innocently, and how the fuck is Jimin supposed to say no?

It’s not comfortable to do it the way they’re sitting, side by side on the couch, and there’s conveniently enough space for Jimin to kneel before Yoongi. Which is. Not awkward. At all. 

He sighs and stands up, going down on the floor when he’s standing between Yoongi’s legs, desperately ignoring the obvious implication of the situation they’re in. He helps Yoongi take off his jacket completely and hooks his fingers over his t-shirt, suddenly reluctant. 

It feels weird. To be undressing him when he’s not even sure how to bring up the fact he actually wants to do it in completely different circumstances. Because he does. Yes, he does.

“Maybe, we should talk,” Yoongi offers with a nervous chuckle, and Jimin snorts in agreement. 

“Do we have something to talk about while I’m undressing you that won’t make it weirder?” Jimin asks rhetorically, finally getting up the courage and carefully lifting Yoongi’s shirt, standing on his knees to pull it over his head. 

When Yoongi’s face emerges from the collar, Jimin realizes how close they actually are, and it’s all of a sudden even more charged. 

“We have a lot of things to discuss,” Yoongi murmurs, something dark in his eyes as Jimin still clutches his shirt.

He throws it on the couch, swallowing and watching how goosebumps appear on Yoongi’s chest. It’s not cold — it’s a warm evening. 

Overcome by a sudden surge of courage, Jimin carefully traces the lines of the grapevine tattoo with his fingers, watching in satisfaction how Yoongi’s skin reacts, a trail of goosebumps following his hand.

“We really do,” he says breathlessly, putting both of his hands on Yoongi’s shoulders and pulling him forward to reach the binds of his bandages. 

He unwraps them carefully, leaning dangerously close to Yoongi’s face every time the bandages come on his back, and every time Yoongi is watching him closely. It’s cracking in the air between them, and Jimin feels his heart beat wildly. 

He watches how blood rushes back to the parts of his body that were covered by the cloth, and it’s terrifying to see how many dark bruises there are on his chest, blending in with the black of his ink, spreading over stitches. He gently touches a bruise over Yoongi’s heart, feeling his throat constrict. 

“Did they tell you what I did when I saw you lying there?” He whispers shakily, feeling Yoongi’s hand go to his waist to hold him. 

“Yes.” It’s rasp and hoarse, and it sends shivers down Jimin’s spine, making his mouth dry.

“It felt like I was dying myself.” He frowns to keep off the tears, the terror and anxiety of that evening coming back to plague his soul.

He closes his eyes, leaning closer and putting his forehead to Yoongi’s chest, aligning his own lifeline to the beating of his heart. 

Loud and alive. His. 

“Why do you affect me so?” He whispers the question Yoongi once asked him and hears a chuckle. “Why are you so important? Why are we like this?”

“Well, I’d say something tacky about fate, but I don’t want you to punch me,” Yoongi murmurs, his hands going to Jimin’s back and rubbing soothing circles into it.

Jimin looks up, searching his eyes and the meaning they bring. Yoongi is looking at him like he is the most breathtaking sight, and it brings him joy. 

“Maybe right now I need something tacky.” Jimin sighs, feeling so many shit mixed together in his mind, his only point of stability — Yoongi’s fingers that go up to touch his chin. 

“Well, then, sunshine...” His voice is quiet and mesmerizing. “I reckon it was written in the stars.”

Jimin frowns, a smile on his lips but heaviness on his heart. He sighs and looks at Yoongi’s collarbones, the lines of the tattoos hugging them like armor. Familiar. 

“I saw something,” he whispers before he can change his mind. “In the trance.”

There’s an encouraging squeeze on his neck, and he closes his eyes, recounting the story he’s already told him a week ago when he was lying on the brink of death, and it’s coming out of him in waves as he tells Yoongi about seeing Ares and his red string, and watching the lights in the distance and knowing what they mean. 

“I remember _he_ said something,” he murmurs, recalling the high melodic voice coming from the lights. “When Ares told me I could stay.”

“What was it?” Yoongi asks in a whisper, his hands caressing Jimin’s. It’s helping. 

“That I need to either stay away from Ares,” he answers, looking up into Yoongi’s eyes, saturated devotion in them. “Or embrace everything he is.”

Yoongi hooks his chin with his fingers, gently nudging Jimin’s face higher, brushing his cheek with his nose to whisper in his ear. 

“And what do you choose, my Jimin?” It sends electricity down Jimin’s veins. 

“Neither.” He takes a shaky breath. “I choose Min Yoongi.”

Yoongi makes a strained sound, and Jimin feels like every point of their contact is on fire. He feels Yoongi tugging him higher, and he stands up, moving in the lightest of touches, somehow ending up on Yoongi’s lap before he can think too much about it, his palms going to wrap around his neck, their foreheads pressed closer. 

“ _I want you_ ,” he says again, the denial stepping away to give place to that wild craving to feel Yoongi’s skin on his, his voice in his head, his smile appearing only for him. “But I don’t... I’m not right, Yoongi.”

“No.” It’s strong and powerful, getting into Jimin’s bones and gripping every insecurity and ripping it away, and it feels like physical pain — the way Jimin can’t let go of not feeling like enough. “You are.”

“Something is wrong with me, Yoongi,” he sobs, feeling Yoongi’s breath on his lips and wanting them, wanting them so much he feels sparks all over his skin. “I’m not complete.”

He feels Yoongi shake his head, gripping him ever harder, pressing him close, disregarding his injuries and just wishing to be near. 

“Tell me how it feels,” he asks, and Jimin is so fucking grateful for everything he is. 

“When I told Tony to leave,” he starts, licking his dry lips, his eyes still closed because he’s afraid to open them and face his own weakness. “It felt easy. But it also felt like something shot me through the lungs, and it’s like some part of me got torn away.”

“Do you regret it?” Yoongi’s voice is soft, devoid of judgment or anger. Just curiosity. Desire to help Jimin find his way. 

“No,” he answers honestly and shakes his hand, feeling Yoongi’s lips brush against his cheek. “I don’t love him. I never did. But the second he left my life, something ended, and I don’t know what it was, or how to undo it.”

“You don’t have to,” Yoongi whispers with a sigh. “Just simply… Start something new.”

This time, Jimin isn’t afraid to cry. It doesn’t feel like a weakness or injury, it feels like the most right thing to do now. The tears spill over, and Yoongi holds him while he’s shaking, and he never wants to...

He never wants to leave his arms. 

Jimin leans back, wiping at his eyes and finally opening them to see nothing but pure affection on the face of the man he’s come to admire. Yoongi looks at him with patience and gentleness, his fingers taking the last of the tears away. 

“Just let me help,” he murmurs, his brow furrowed, and Jimin feels another sob coming out of him. 

“How can I ask you to...” It’s hard to breathe, and he hiccups soundlessly, _so fucking devastated_. “How can I ask anything of you when I’m not right?”

“No,” Yoongi contradicts again, shaking his head in denial, his lips pressed together. It’s raw and scalding, the heat all around them. “You’re right. For me, you’re always right.”

Jimin suddenly laughs, bubbling hysterics in his chest breaking out, and he buries his face in Yoongi’s neck, breathing in deep and refusing to hide it this time. The scent settles itself in his bloodstream, healing the wounds of his soul and promising to stay forever. 

“Don’t let go of me,” he pleads, and Yoongi wraps his hands tighter around him, ignoring the pain of his injuries, and Jimin senses his love with every cell in his body. It’s what he needs. It’s what he always needed. 

“Never,” Yoongi promises with a heated whisper. “I promise I will help you find your balance again, Jiminnie. Just let me.”

He nods a few times, unable to speak from the power of emotions — his own and Yoongi’s blended together, creating the brilliant ambrosia of serenity settling into his limbs. 

He breathes out, feeling his heartbeat slow down, his pulse aligning itself to Yoongi’s. He suddenly wants to feel it with his lips — and so he does it, pressing them to Yoongi’s neck with an open-mouthed kiss, feeling the quickening beat of his heart with his tongue. 

Yoongi makes a strained sound, his fingers pressing into his lower back, his mouth opening in a silent sigh. Jimin feels brave and reckless, and so fucking smitten, and so he goes higher, kissing his jaw and the corner of his lips, and he stops over them, feeling hot breath on his skin. 

“Kiss me,” he breathes out, his fingers in Yoongi’s hair, the power of Yoongi’s emotions tickling his skin, and he waits for it, waits to finally feel the lips he’s been secretly craving. “Please.”

Yoongi touches his chin again, his thumb brushing over Jimin’s lips, and it’s so much, so strong, so powerful. 

“I can’t, baby,” he says painfully, his voice soaked with regret and guilt. “I can’t be another fixation for you.”

Jimin whines, hurt and offended, and some distant part of him knows Yoongi is right but it doesn’t matter now, _it doesn’t fucking matter_.

“But you said you would be my anything,” he contradicts weakly, the desire to kiss him still strong around him, filling up his perception and fixating it on the point his lips are almost touching Yoongi’s.

“When you’re ready,” Yoongi whispers, stroking his cheek, and Jimin finally opens his eyes, his wet eyelashes cold, his chin trembling. “When you find yourself. When I look at you and see that you’re finally sure of your footing, I will kiss you, and I will never stop.” It sounds like more than a promise — a vow, the one that settles over their bond in red and purple, strengthening it ever more. “But for now... You need to take a breath and remember who you are. And find it.”

He does just that — he takes a breath, guided by caring hands on his skin, by the encouraging smile and loving eyes, and he feels lighter, and Yoongi is right. Yoongi is right. 

Jimin closes his eyes in despair, suddenly embarrassed over his slip-up, but Yoongi doesn’t let him succumb into shame — he brings Jimin’s head back on his shoulder, stroking his back and kissing his temple. 

“I’m forever yours,” he murmurs, resigned but not regretful. “And I’ll wait for you to be ready to be mine, even if it takes infinity.”

Jimin encircles his waist, careful of his bruises, the warmth of his body seeping into his own, settling in his bones. He sniffs. 

“Sorry,” he whispers, not sure for what he’s apologizing, but Yoongi just hums in disagreement. 

“Never apologize to me, sun,” he mumbles with a sigh. 

They’re silent for a long time. 

Jimin takes his time to get himself together, straighten his mind and sync it with his heart again. Yoongi lets him just sit there, wrapped around him and taking his own strength, sharing it selflessly, giving Jimin everything he needs in this moment. Jimin watches the sun come down, giving place to the bright twilight, and he tries to see stars even though there’s too much illumination in the city for them to be visible. 

It feels like the most peaceful thing in the world — to be here with him, calmness slowly spreading over him, mapping his body with the points of contact. He traces Yoongi’s skin with his fingers, gently outlining his tattoos, mesmerized by the eagle’s expression — it looks angry and mad, ready to protect the robin at all cost, but there’s still something kind in the way his feathers lean around the wounded bird. Mad but kind — the Yoongi Jimin knows all too well.

Finally, when he thinks he’s ready to face him again, he leans back, rubbing Yoongi’s sore neck.

There’s no need to thank him, he muses as he watches the gentle smile on Yoongi’s lips, and he smiles back, sadly but gratefully. He knows it all himself. Yoongi knows it. 

“I have to go away for some time soon,” Yoongi whispers, and it feels right not to break the quietness of their moment. Jimin frowns, already feeling the pull in him that will inevitably get unbearable when Yoongi is away. “But I promise I’ll come back before you can notice.”

That sounds doubtful because the sadness is already creeping up on him, but he nods nevertheless, not wishing to burden Yoongi with the mess of his mind. It’s pointless — because Yoongi feels it anyway, touching his chin and bringing him close to put their foreheads together. 

“I’ll wait for you,” Jimin murmurs, not wishing to close his eyes, drinking in every second he gets to spend near him. “And I’ll try to get better while you’re away. Figure myself out.”

Yoongi smiles softly and tugs his face lower to kiss his eyelids. Jimin feels breathless. 

“Promise not to forget me?” He asks with a chuckle, but there’s real fear there, and Jimin rushes to make it disappear by looking him in the eyes and biting his lip. 

_How could I ever?_

“Promise,” he says, memorizing every feature of Yoongi’s face in preparation for sleepless nights filled with terror. It’s his. His Yoongi. He just needs some more time. “Never again.”

X

Eight months ago.

_”Boring. Tonight is fucking boring. I know I said I’m going to wait until the Tomlinsons are away to start on Olympus, but there’s seriously nothing else to do here. I basically have all the files on the Underworld, and I don’t know why I’m still hanging out around here._

_Alright. That’s a lie._

_I haven’t seen Yoongi in days. He’s overlooking the renovations, and I’ve heard him yelling at someone a few times, but no visual. It seemed too risky to try and get inside the Hotel, so I’m sticking to the alleys around it._

_I just miss his annoyed face, I don’t know what else to say. It’s freaking amusing, okay?_

_I need to snap out of it and start investigating Olympus tomorrow. Mnemosyne is... Dangerous. He’s up to something, and I need to learn what it is if I want to make a solid case to Hades. I seem to be safe enough for now but there’s so much luck reserved for my sorry ass, and I feel even Tyche wouldn’t help here. Hell, if she knew what I dug up on her and how I did it, she’d feed me to the dogs._

_So. Olympus tomorrow. Hanging out around the Underworld in hopes of seeing my freaking murderous crush tonight. Seems like a plan.”_

Jimin snaps the notebook shut, throwing his head back against a wall and closing his eyes with a sigh. He’s sitting in the dark alley, daylight still sufficient enough to write, and it’s chilly here — a pleasant change to the July heat all around them. He swallows, feeling how dry his throat is and contemplates looking for a shop to buy some cold water. 

He stands up and walks out on the street, only he doesn’t get to move further — there’s a group of men moving his way, their faces and intentions too obvious to ignore. 

Jimin curses and dives back into the alley, but he knows it’s too late — they’ve noticed him if the cooing voices and rough laughs are of any indication.

He doesn’t let himself panic. He’s prepared for this, come on. He reaches behind him and freezes, realizing the knife he stole off some idiot at the party isn’t on him. There’s a terrifying memory of where it’s lying in his room, but it’s of no use to him now. 

The voices are getting closer, and he’s trying to assess the situation logically — he’s close to the Hotel, it’s day outside, and he doesn’t look like he can be robbed, the stress and anxiety of the past few weeks making him look just like another poor fucker hanging about the Underworld. They won’t want to rob him. 

He swallows, realizing something. They may want to do something else. 

“Hey, pretty.” 

Jimin snaps his head up, his hand still frozen behind his back, and he clutches his notebook in a sudden fear that they’ll see what’s inside, and the implications of that might be even worse than getting mugged. 

There’s four of them, and neither look like one of Yoongi’s, or even the regular members of the Underworld. The ones from the Hotel may be vile murderers, but Hades has a reputation to uphold, so anyone on his payroll always looks like they can easily blend in at any high-society party and/or in an elite biker gang. These thugs look just like average scums from the pits of this city. 

The one speaking is obviously the leader, his head tilted to the side, a cruel fire in his eyes. There are two teeth missing from his yellow smile, and Jimin wishes he could knock out a few more. He wishes he could do anything instead of standing here frozen. 

“I was just leaving,” he tries, but his voice is too weak and trembling, and he hates it. 

They’re stepping closer into the alley, the light disappearing and submerging them all into shadows, and Jimin really doesn’t want to fucking die like this. 

“And I was just about to have fun,” the guy says hoarsely, his buddies laughing behind him. They’re blocking the entrance, and it’s a dead-end so Jimin can’t even run the opposite way. He’s trapped. 

_“Just say that you’re waiting for Ares.”_

It’s a memory mixed with something else in his head, Yoongi’s voice echoing through his skull just like it does every time Jimin realizes there are someone else’s thoughts and words in his head. It’s been going on for weeks now, ever since he woke up after first meeting Yoongi, and he’s still not entirely used to some dude randomly speaking up in his head. He likes it, though. It makes him feel less alone. 

“That’s a pity,” he answers to the guy, more strength and stability in his voice now. “I’m meeting up with Ares, so — can’t stay. Sorry, guys.”

It has its effect but not the one Jimin was hoping for. The thugs freeze for a second, the betas looking at their leader for reaction, and Jimin grits his teeth as he sees the guy chuckle. 

“Yeah, because that guy is obviously meeting up with his little whores _here_.”

Jimin clenches his fist at the words, rage — his own and the alien one mixed together — shooting up through him. How the fuck is this scum still around here? And daring to speak this way? Jimin obviously knows more about the inhabitants of the Hotel than this dumbass. He wishes Orpheus could hear the guy now. 

“Who knows the mind of that guy?” Someone murmurs, and the leader bares his teeth at them. They look sure in his words, but Jimin still senses how spooked they are. He swallows. 

“Alright, then,” the guy bows his head slightly, greasy hair falling on his eyes. “We’ll go someplace else.”

Jimin doesn’t like it. It doesn’t sound right, and he grips his notebook tighter, ready to hit with it if it comes to it. 

The guy steps closer, and Jimin is hit with the smell of something rotten and sour. He flinches, taking a step back, but there’s a hand on his shoulder, gluing him to his place. 

“You’ll be coming with us,” the guy breathes out, and Jimin tries to analyze what will happen if he hits him in the crotch — will the element of surprise give him enough time to get away?

“I don’t really want to,” he murmurs, swallowing and looking over the man’s body, covertly looking for weak spots. 

His legs are weird and unaligned, and he guesses a knee injury. If he hits his nuts _and_ leg, he’ll definitely slow him down, but what about the others?

“I’m sure I can change your mind.” His face is hungry as he takes in Jimin’s features, and Jimin feels dirty as if his gaze is physically crawling on his body, leaving slime black trails on his skin. 

“No, please,” he says shakily, torn between trying to fight and talk his way out of it. “I’ll just leave.”

“I don’t think so.” He’s close now, too close, and Jimin lowers his head, hiding behind his fringe, his heart beating wildly. What will happen to him now?

“I do.”

He almost laughs from relief when he hears the familiar voice, and for a second there’s fear that this one was in his head too, but the hand is suddenly gone from his shoulder, and when he looks up, he sees the guy’s back instead of his ugly mug. He looks around him and almost falls down from the joy washing over him at the sight of the familiar frame leaning lazily at the entrance into the alley. 

“Ares,” the man breathes out, and here it is — the fear Jimin was craving when he mentioned Yoongi just a minute ago. “I didn’t think that... The boy said...”

“I don’t care what you thought,” Yoongi says calmly, taking a slow drag out of his cigarette. 

Now, this isn’t the time nor the place, but Jimin finds himself admiring the way he looks — his too-long black hair falling over his eyes hidden behind the sunglasses, his face tanned from the sun, the tattoos over his hands blackening in the light. He’s dressed in his usual failed goth attire, safe for the jacket that is missing now, the weather too unbearable for the leather. His grey t-shirt is sticking to his sweaty body, and yes, Jimin is ogling at his abs that can be seen through the clothes. Who can fucking judge him?

“I heard the boy say he doesn’t want to go with you,” Yoongi continues, biting the inside of his cheek. “So I’m confused as to why you’re still here.”

There’s tense silence, but Jimin doesn’t see what the thugs can possibly do — they outnumber him, yes, but they also know precisely who he is. Even if his reputation didn’t precede him and they tried anything, he would easily beat their asses without even bothering to put out his cigarette. Hell yeah Jimin is attracted to him. 

He’s right, of course he is, for the men slowly back away from him, moving towards the exit of the alley, keeping close to the opposite wall as if they’re scared to even walk past Yoongi. Jimin sees a slight smirk on his lips wrapped around the cigarette.

One by one, they fill out, with only the leader left behind as he slowly leaves too, but not before shrugging lazily. 

“The bitch is all yours. You’re lucky, too, he looks expensive.”

It’s his mistake, really, and it’s obvious he’s going to pay for it in the way Yoongi sucks in the air. 

“Nah, this ain’t it.” He makes a slight movement with his head. 

A second later, someone appears from the street and punches the guy square in the face so hard it throws him against the wall. Jimin watches how Janus steps inside the alley and roughly grabs him by the collar, making him stand up. 

“Take him to the basement,” Yoongi instructs, scratching his eyebrow lazily. “Tantalus keeps complaining he’s bored. Tell him to knock himself out and teach our friend some manners.”

Janus nods grimly and disappears, dragging the guy with him, and Yoongi puts his cigarette out on the wall and flicks it into the nearby trash can. An eco-friendly criminal, what do you know. 

They’re alone now, Jimin realizes with a chill down his spine. 

It’s not the most unpleasant scenario. Hell, he’s dreamt about it countless times, envisioning the encounter going hundreds different ways — but it’s too early, he’s not nearly ready.

“You okay, kid?” Yoongi comes into the alley but keeps his distance, and Jimin is grateful. He keeps his head down even though he’s desperate to see his face. It’s been over two months, but he still fears Yoongi’s going to recognize him, and yeah — he’s not ready. 

He nods, his hands wrapped around him, unable to bring himself to speak. Shit. 

“I heard you use my name,” Yoongi says, but there’s no anger in him, just curiosity. “Wouldn’t have stopped otherwise. We were walking past and, I don’t know, I just tuned in. Do we know each other?”

Jimin swallows, taking a deep breath.

“No.” He knows Yoongi, but no matter how much he wishes for it — it doesn’t go both ways. “But I figured if there’s a way I can get out of it, it’s using your name. Sorry.”

“Nah, don’t apologize.” Yoongi gets the hair out his face, pushing it back, and Jimin can’t help but look up at him, his exposed forehead doing things to Jimin’s insides. “You’re smart, kid.”

“Stop calling me that,” Jimin snaps before he can stop himself. “I’m not a kid.”

Yoongi freezes, his hand stopping in mid-movement, his fingers entangled in his hair. He raises one eyebrow, his face grim. 

“Well, you look like one,” he shoots back. “Shouldn’t you be off doing your homework?”

“It’s summer,” Jimin says with a frown, his lips pressed together. “And you should mind your own business.”

He regrets it as soon as he says it, but there’s no turning back, so he just watches how Yoongi blinks slowly. And then he does something — unexpected and shocking — he laughs. 

It’s a quiet laugh, too, his nose scrunched up and his teeth showing, and Jimin breathes out, mesmerized by how nice and innocent he looks in this moment. 

Yoongi wipes at his lips and shakes his head, stepping away.

“Yeah, you’re right,” he says in a pretend-serious voice. “We both should just go back to our own shit.”

Jimin swallows and looks down again, crouching to pick up his bag and stuff the notebook inside. He grips the strap as he puts on his shoulder and walks past Yoongi, feeling his scent, strengthened by the heat, and he wants to stop so badly and keep talking to him, just to hear his voice again, have his full attention. 

“Be careful out there,” Yoongi calls out after him, and he turns around, already on the street. Yoongi is still hidden by the shadows, but Jimin knows he’s smiling. Hell knows why. “And stay away from the Underworld if you’re not ready for what awaits you here.”

Jimin wants to ask him what he means, taunt him into another conversation, but it’s stupid and not safe, so he just frowns and presses his lips together. 

He leaves without looking back, his hands shaking from the adrenaline subsiding, and thinks how he should be careful what he wishes for. He wanted to see Yoongi, and he got it, and he’s certain he’ll be replaying the encounter every time he gets a free minute, regretting every second of it. 

He knows he won’t regret one thing, though. No matter the circumstances, seeing Yoongi felt like a breath of fresh air, and it made him even more hungry for information. He wants to belong with them, he wants to never be scared again, and he wants for Yoongi to never call him a kid anymore.

Because the next time they meet, he will be ready. He will be much more than he is now, and he will be something worthy of being in the presence of Min Yoongi. 

Next time they talk, he’ll be exactly what Yoongi needs. He’ll be right.

↹

It feels like there are tiny needles ripping into Mnemosyne’s skull. He rubs his forehead, desperate to rid himself of the pain that had been haunting him for days now. He takes a deep breath and starts walking again.

The Muses are in the garden today, and with joy, he drinks in the essences of their powers, flowing in the air. It’s beautiful, what they create — what he brought them into this world to create. He watches as Thalia and Melpomene embrace in dance, Terpsichore laughing at their attempts to recreate his own movements. Mnemosyne smiles. His legacy, they are.

The one he’s looking for is in hidden by the shades of the ivy deeper into the garden, his attention focused solely on the book on his lap, his fingers flying over the pages. Mnemosyne announces his arrival with a chuckle, and Clio looks up at him, disoriented for a moment before he recognizes his Father and smiles up at him.

“Clio, my dear,” Mnemosyne greets him with a smile as he sits down next to the Muse on the bench.

“Father,” Clio answers in a respectful tone that still carries distant warmth, and it makes Mnemosyne smile wider. “You have been absent.”

It’s an obvious observation, but Clio is probably the only one who could say it with that certain worrying implication — he will not admit he has missed Mnemosyne, but he still feels it, and in this curt sentence, he is asking what was holding his Father for so long. 

“I have been unwell,” Mnemosyne says simply, not wishing to burden him with the memories of losing himself in the fever for days on end, his mind aflame with something he could not recognize, no matter how hard he tried. “Have you heard about Aphrodite?”

He changes the topic on purpose, knowing that the tragedy is on everybody’s tongues lately — along with the disappearance of Persephone. The last one, though, found its resolve when Hermes came back from the Underworld and confirmed what everyone has been suspecting all along. Demeter is nowhere to be seen, and there are rumors she’s in the human world, grieving her son and making mortals pay for it.

“Yes,” Clio says with a slight frown. “It is a worrying tragedy, for sure.”

Mnemosyne thinks about the Pantheon meeting they had last night, every god lost at what to do now, where to search — and even if they should search. Ares bared his teeth the second the thought was spoken, and they all settled on the decision to keep looking. Hephaestus was not in attendance, and the implications of that were obvious in the way Ares kept glaring at the god’s usual seat at the council. Zeus decreed that they all keep on the lookout but don’t let it distract them from their own duties, and both Poseidon and Mnemosyne had to restrain Ares from doing things with his sword he would later regret.

Zeus was unusually grim yesterday in any case. Mnemosyne wonders even now as to the nature of his bond with Aphrodite, what with his movements and words troubled and dark.

He sighs. Something else is bothering him, prickling at the back of his mind, trying to claw its way out of his memory — but he cannot grasp it no matter how hard he tries. He looks around the garden, observing his Muses, his children, joyful and full of life and love, granting mortals with inspiration and gifts, making their dull lives that much brighter.

His legacy.

“Tell me, Clio,” he asks quietly, not looking away from where Euterpe is sitting on the grass, scribbling on a parchment. “You and your brothers, are you always going to be loyal to me?”

Clio doesn’t respond right away, and it’s a testament of how well Mnemosyne has trained him. Always think before speaking, even, and especially, when there are emotions involved

“You have created us, Father,” Clio finally answers in a calm voice. “We will always be yours.”

Mnemosyne smiles.

That is right. That is how it will always be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey, y’all! I don’t usually write these bc I’m a bit self-conscious, but just wanted to say that I’m grateful to everyone who takes some time out of their lives to join me on this wild journey of the Underworld gays and their adventures (press f to pay respects for jimin). it’s been said thousands of times before me, but you have no idea how nice and encouraging it feels for an author to see a new subscription, bookmark, kudos, or comment. I literally go :] every time I see smth new. thank you so much babies, and I hope I won’t disappoint!
> 
> come yell at me on [twitter ](https://twitter.com/romulusadhara)  
> [come yell at me as anon](https://curiouscat.me/romulusadhara)


	11. XI. agape.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So this is it? His moment of clarity?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [chapter moodboard](https://twitter.com/romulusadhara/status/1108319915545673734)

_no matter where I run, there's something about your love_

_what have I become?_

_there's something about your love_

_there's something that makes me lose my mind and never come back down_

_my heart is empty, and only you can tempt me_

_is this hell or heaven?_

_I can't tell when we're together_

↹

He wants to let him go.

“Sit. Ah, good boy!”

Hades smiles bitterly, delighted to be covered by the tree shadows. He throws another pomegranate seed into his mouth as he watches Persephone play with Cerberus.

The god of spring doesn’t even leave the garden these days. It is more peaceful for him to sleep among the roses, he says, and Hades understands it, so he just makes sure the gardens are guarded well at night to not let anything disturb Persephone’s peace. 

He watches as Cerberus obeys every command Persephone throws at him. It is still embarrassing — to have the guardian of the Underworld behave as a regular pup would, but as long as it puts a smile on Persephone’s face, he will stay silent. Cerberus still does his job perfectly well, so he might as well enjoy the happiness that being with Persephone brings. Hades wishes — of course he does — to be as close with his beloved as his pet, but alas.

He knows he’s prying, again, yet he cannot look away from the way Persephone’s silver robes glint as they catch the sun. The ceiling here is charmed to resemble the sky outside, a humble gift from Hecate to his new friend. Hades knows Persephone still feels it to be fake, no matter how fresh the air is or white the clouds are, yet he is mesmerized by the way Persephone embraces it as if it was real.

He hears a delighted laugh and smiles himself.

“When will you come out of there?”

Hades looks down when Persephone arches an eyebrow at him and rubs his nose in the embarrassment of being caught. He thought he was concealed well enough. He takes a few tentative steps forward into the light, scrunching his face up when the rays hit it. Persephone looks up with a sigh, and after a few seconds, the sunlight steps away, big clouds covering the sun and allowing Hades to open his eyes without hurting them. It is not like he is allergic to sunlight — he is just more of a night creature, thriving better in the darkness.

He nods gratefully to Persephone, not surprised at the god being able to control even the magical weather. His powers are still with him in this realm, and it is noticeable in the flowers all around them, their beauty way more enhanced than it was when Persephone first came here.

“You knew I was there,” he states, observing the way Cerberus wiggles his tail as Persephone strokes his belly.

“I always know where you are,” Persephone hums without looking up. Hades feels his breath hitch. “Your energy… it is hard to ignore, especially in your realm.”

Hades bites his lips, recalling the first time he ever saw the god of spring. It was one of the Olympus meetings, boring and useless to him as he could never concern himself with petty feuds between the other gods. He was letting his gaze wander, trying to find something to entertain him, when it fell on two gods hiding behind a column. Aphrodite hid the second he was discovered, but Persephone was unmoving. To this day, Hades wonders why he didn’t turn away immediately.

_Why were you looking back?_

Cerberus gets tired of playing and waddles away to the pond, dropping all his heads inside and yapping at the water loudly. Persephone giggles, watching him, before he turns to measure Hades with his look. His eyes are calm and cold, not a trace of the past hate.

“You look worn,” he observes, but it is not the words spoken out of worry, Hades feels. He nods slightly.

“The Olympus is in chaos,” he says, biting his lip. Would it pain Persephone to hear about the state of the realm he no longer belongs to?

He wants to let him go. Yet he does not know if he is ready.

“Are there any news of my Aphrodite?” Persephone wonders, frowning, his fingers fumbling with a black rose, its petals as fresh as the day Hades gave it to him many moons ago. What is keeping it alive? The power of the god of spring, or the love of the god of hell?

Hades shakes his head gravely, craving to reach out and console Persephone when he sees his face fall, tears appearing in his eyes. Persephone clutches his heart and looks around, appearing lost, floating in space as his mind wanders to the realms unbeknownst to Hades.

“His only wish was to be with the one he loved,” he mumbles in a weak voice, his breathing labored.

Hades can’t do it. He cannot just stand there and watch how the one _he_ loves suffers from the pain of not knowing where his best friend is. He reaches out tentatively and puts his hand on Persephone’s shoulder, tightening his grip gently enough to let him know that he is not alone yet is not forced into anything. Not again. Not ever.

Persephone slowly turns his head to look at Hades’ palm on him, and when Hades expects him to rip it away, Persephone just stands still, his fingers wrapped around his rose. And then — he takes a step forward into Hades’ space, looking at his shoulder with wet eyes and coming even closer, his own hand wrapping around Hades’ waist as he presses close to him, hiding his face.

Hades is afraid to move even an inch, glued to his place by the onslaught of emotions, yet he makes himself wrap his hands around Persephone’s shoulders, holding him close and allowing him to cry for as long as he wants to.

“I feel so numb in this place,” Persephone confesses shakily, and Hades closes his eyes, the pain and guilt ripping into him as if he is one of the tortured souls that Cerberus brings under the earth. “I don’t feel anything but emptiness, Hades.”

“I am sorry,” Hades whispers, tears in his own eyes, the terror of what he has done consuming him. How could he take this flower away from the real sun? Is he truly a tale of nightmares, cruel enough to rip the beauty away from its home because of his own selfish desires? “I am so sorry, my love.”

“You keep saying that.” Persephone is warm and soft against him, his smell enveloping Hades and making his heart beat even faster. His breath on Hades’ neck makes his dark soul bloom with something so bright and beautiful that it feels like it does not belong there. “But can you? Love?”

Hades closes his eyes, the question clawing at his insides, his ribs on fire. He thought it was love when he took Persephone — yet it was an obsession, the one he regretted as soon as he heard Persephone’s cries inside his chambers. Is he right? Is Hades not able to feel something as bright and pure as the feeling the mortals wax poetry about? Is he too dark, too forsaken, too cursed?

“I am starting to learn,” he whispers as he feels Persephone’s presence with more than just his body — his soul seeking the warmth of the god, finding comfort in the soothing drops of spring rain, basking in the sunlight of Persephone’s kindness.

He would give anything for Persephone to feel happy again, and for that, he needs to reunite with his mother and his friends, his own realm, and his — real — nature.

Hades needs him to feel, but it is no longer the love for himself that he craves. It is just a desire for Persephone to find something he can enjoy as much as Hades enjoys his company, and for that — he needs to let him go.

He is ready to release him. Yet still, he hesitates.

XI

Jimin wraps Yoongi’s windbreaker tighter around him and yawns into his fist. It must be around five in the morning, he reckons as he watches the first sunrays lazily peek out from the horizon, painting the distant sky in purple. It’s still too early for his brain to function. 

He leans back on the wall, watching how the boys load up the cars, Yoongi controlling what goes where. He’s taking Taeyong and Mark with him, leaving Ten once again in charge while he’s away. The devil twins are excitedly loading up the trunk, exchanging jokes and laughter with Mark as they work. Jimin closes his eyes, putting his head against the stone, waiting for them to finish and depart to go back to an empty bed he won’t be able to sleep in. 

It’s been a week since.

Since the thing.

Yoongi has been nothing but gentle with him, but he’s not pushing it, and so it feels like nothing has changed between them save from one thing — they both _know_. Nothing has changed, but it has… Upgraded. The touches are lingering, the looks are longer, the words are softer. Yoongi smiles more now, and Jimin freely responds to it, because there’s no more need to hide anything.

He’s been around less, of course, because there’s too much needing his attention as Ares, and Jimin is already feeling the gradually oncoming pressure of the finals, so Yoongi had to grit his teeth and entrust his safety to Changkyun and Kihyun at the same time — and with that, Jimin found out that Kihyun is that ‘bitchass boyfriend’ Changkyun was talking about (the words Changkyun got clipped upside the head for) — and only meet Jimin after ten in the evening, even so constantly getting distracted by his phone. The gang is active like hell now. They already had their hands full with gradually undermining Kim’s people, but now that Taeyong’s information on _Red Velvet_ added to the pile of shit they’re dealing with, Jimin barely manages to make Yoongi’s workaholic ass fall asleep when he comes to the apartment for the night. 

The fact that he does it — comes to him to sleep — makes Jimin feel warm in the coldness of the dawn. Because he may have a crazy schedule, but he always ends up in Jimin’s arms at the end of the day, softly telling him about the Underworld affairs, seeking Jimin’s advice as someone unbiased and encouraging him to speak up when he thinks something is wrong. Because Yoongi can get carried away.

Two days ago, he came to him covered in blood, rushing to announce that it’s not his at Jimin’s terrified look. He seemed hypnotized as he was washing it off in the bathroom, the door open for Jimin to see everything, his eyes tracing the trails of reddened water coming down the drain. At some point, he realized he couldn’t just stand there and came over, helping Yoongi take off his clothes to properly wash up his stained torso. It wasn’t intimate — Yoongi standing in the bathtub with his jeans on as water dripped from him while Jimin was cleansing his skin, careful of the stitches Taeyong promised to remove any day now — it was natural. He noticed how he could anticipate Yoongi’s reaction to his methodical movements before there was a visible sign of discomfort on his face. After it was done, Yoongi changed into dry clothes and fell into bed, his body exhausted but his mind reeling. 

“They attack so pointlessly,” he mumbled when Jimin lied down next to him, their faces at one level. “It’s like they barely have any training, or don’t at all.”

“Trainees?” Jimin asked softly, his hand finding Yoongi’s under the covers and intertwining their fingers. 

“Maybe,” Yoongi whispered in return, his eyes locked on Jimin’s. “Am I killing kids, sun?”

Jimin didn’t answer right away, pondering over the question, chewing on his lip as he analyzed the information he already had. 

“Taeyong said Seulgi still has connections at the police academy,” he started, squinting his eyes in suspicion. “But I don't think they would let her use the trainees, no matter how much money she offers.”

Yoongi sighed, closing his eyes and moving closer until his forehead was pressed against Jimin’s heart. Jimin’s hand went to his hair, stroking gently. 

“She’s manipulative,” he murmured, having gone over the files Taeyong gathered — in favor of going over his own notes. He’s stalling, and he feels guilty about it, but he leaves it for the others to read the files he’s compiled on them. “She wants you to think you’re killing children who can’t fight back, but I can bet anything they’re trained well enough but have orders to mess with your heads.”

He felt Yoongi’s hand on his back, his fingers tracing invisible lines on his skin. It felt natural. 

“We’re leaving two days from now,” he murmured, his breath against Jimin’s chest. “I know it’s annoying, but would you mind staying at the Hotel while I’m gone?”

Jimin had anticipated this, and there wasn’t anything he could say against it — Taehyung is full-on living there, anyway — so he simply hummed. 

“Sleeping in your bed is the closest thing I can get to actually having you there.” He inhaled, his eyelids drooping at the familiar smell. “So sure. And you’ll be less bitchy if I’m surrounded by the gang.”

Yoongi snorted in agreement and looked up, his smile bright in the darkness of the room. Jimin could hear Wooseok and Jinho playing Bioshock again in the living room. 

Constants and variables. The constant of having Yoongi in his arms. The variable of the feelings he experiences when it happens. 

“I’ll be back before you can notice,” Yoongi promised. “And I’ll call you to help you fall asleep.”

“I’m afraid your voice isn’t enough anymore,” Jimin whispered but smiled, closing his eyes and letting his body relax. “But I’ll take what I can get.”

He sighs now, dread in his limbs as he waits for the guys to depart. He looks to his right at Ten, who’s seeing them off with him. Ten looks grim and detached, his eyes not leaving the slim form of a man whose hair — bright silver now — shines like a beacon. 

“Have you talked?” Jimin asks nonchalantly, tilting his head. 

Ten purses his lips.

“I don’t really know how to start,” he mumbles. 

They’ve had this talk about three times now. Ten is ready to forgive Taeyong his lie if he explains it, but here’s the catch — he finds himself avoiding and escaping Taeyong, therefore not even letting him apologize. Jimin wants to slap them both. 

“He bought me a katana.” Ten smiles, covering his mouth, the ridiculousness of the situation making even Jimin snicker into his palm. “Can you imagine? I walk inside the room, and there’s a huge fucking sword lying on the bed next to Taeyong pretending to be asleep.”

Jimin laughs loudly, attracting Yoongi’s attention. He looks at him with his eyebrow arched, but Jimin just waves him off with a smile, letting him get back to work of ordering the others around. 

“Did you like it?” He asks breathlessly. 

“Are you kidding?” Ten turns to him with an incredulous face. “I _loved_ it. I’ve always wanted one. That bitch knows me, and he knows me well.”

Jimin coos at him, ignoring his pout as he slaps Jimin on the shoulder. Ten’s smiling, too, though, so that’s something. 

He turns to look at Taeyong, who’s standing near Yoongi, talking to him about something with a frown. Wooseok comes out of the Hotel, and Jimin steps away to let him pass as he’s carrying the biggest teddy bear Jimin has ever seen. Jimin holds him by the elbow to help him get down the stairs without falling and breaking his neck. 

“Yoongi told me they’re going to visit some ‘old guard’ people,” he says with a frown as he gets back to his spot next to Ten. “Is the bear for them?”

“No, it’s for Jungkook’s niece,” Ten explains with a sigh. “Like yeah, they’re going because there have been reports of some people from the past popping up in the city, but those who survived the last war all relocated to Dick’s or Louis’ gangs. Yoongi needs to meet up and check if their priorities aren’t suddenly back to what they were when the Underworld fought with them.”

“As in, having this place be a messy hell,” Jimin clarifies and watches how Ten nods grimly. 

“All their leaders were killed, so they kinda surrendered and got the hell out of here. Some of them coming back can mean nothing, but it’s still worth an evaluation from the brass. As in Taeyong and Yoongi, since Kook can’t leave the city in this state.”

“Then what’s with the bear?” Jimin snorts when he sees the guys try to get it inside one of the cars. 

“Louis’ kid turns one in a week.” Ten rubs his neck as his eyes still don’t leave Taeyong. The guy feels it and turns to look at them. “Jungkook can’t be there, once again, but Yoongi and Tae will attend the birthday party in his place.”

Taeyong nods at something Yoongi says and starts coming toward them. Ten swallows, flexing his fists. 

“Talk to him,” Jimin whispers before slipping away to come down the stairs and meet Yoongi at the bottom. 

Yoongi welcomes him with his arms open, and Jimin hugs him with a smile before leaning back and putting his palm over Yoongi’s mouth when he sees he’s about to say something. 

“Quiet,” he whispers. “I’m too invested in this drama to miss it unravelling.”

Yoongi rolls his eyes but stays silent, and Jimin puts his hand away from his pout, turning his head slightly to watch Taeyong and Ten out of the corner of his eye. 

“Hey,” Taeyong says shyly, stopping a step down from Ten, which makes them the same height for once. 

“Hey,” Ten says back, waving his hand awkwardly. “I didn’t get to say before but… Your hair looks amazing. Suits you, like everything does.”

Taeyong chuckles, putting his hands to his cheeks, and Jimin watches smugly how Ten loses his breath over the picture of his boyfriend blushing and smiling before him. 

“Oh, honestly, fuck it,” Ten breathes out, and Taeyong looks up at him in surprise. 

He doesn’t get to say anything, because Ten hugs his face with his palms and brings it closer, locking their lips, his eyes closed as he kisses Taeyong for the first time in more than a week. Taeyong grips his forearms, a smile on his lips as he answers the kiss, his laughter escaping him. 

Jimin puts a hand over his mouth, trying to contain his squeals as he looks at a mildly amused Yoongi, who shrugs as if saying ‘told you so.’

They’re adorable, and they look like young lovers sneaking behind someone’s house. Ten leans back to smile at Taeyong, his eyes hungrily looking over his face. 

“We still need to talk,” he says, his voice hoarse. “But I just couldn’t let you leave for god knows how long without…”

“I get it.” Taeyong kisses his palm, intertwining their fingers. “I don’t even want to imagine trying to sleep without you by my side.”

“Call me when you get there,” Ten asks him, pressing their foreheads together. “And I promise I’ll pick up this time.”

Taeyong nods and kisses him again, this time with more passion, pressing their bodies close, Ten’s hands going to his waist to grip it tightly, and Jimin finally turns away, feeling that at this point it’s definitely private. 

Yoongi is looking at him with his eyebrows raised, a pout on his lips. 

“What?” He whines quietly. “I love their love.”

Yoongi snorts and hugs him, his lips going to Jimin’s ear, his fingers pressing into his spine. 

“You’re adorable,” he murmurs. “I’m smitten.”

Jimin feels himself blush and hides his face in Yoongi’s shoulder, making an undignified sound. Because yes. Yoongi is more open to him now, including but not limited to — his feelings toward Jimin. And those are soaring. 

“Shut up,” he squeaks, hitting him lightly on the back. “And go and abandon me already.”

Yoongi snorts but complies, stepping away and winking at Jimin, making him even more flustered. Yeah. There’s that. 

“I’ll call you,” he promises before coming up to Taeyong and interrupting their make-out session without any shame. Probably jealous, Jimin thinks with a smug smile. 

“Coming,” Taeyong drawls without getting too far away from Ten’s lips, and Yoongi rolls his eyes and gets down the stairs. 

He changes his mind halfway to the car, making a sharp turn and running up to Jimin. Before Jimin can react, Yoongi’s pressing his lips to his cheek in a fleeting but powerful motion and sprinting away with self-satisfied cackling. Jimin rubs his cheek and presses his lips together, his lungs burning from him trying not to start doing something like yelling to let out the bubbles of giddiness inside of him.

He gets back up the stairs to Ten, who’s stroking Taeyong’s face with a lost smile. 

“Love you,” Taeyong murmurs, and Jimin is delighted to see the purple in their bond strengthening once again, slowly making the grey fade away. “Always and forever.”

“Go already, you cheesy idiot,” Ten breathes out with a smile, but contrary to his own words kisses Taeyong again, leaving a few pecks before making himself let go. “Love you too, dumbass.”

Taeyong lights up like a Christmas tree and finally leaves, spring in his step as he passes Mark and Johnny having their own quiet moment. 

Gods. They’re all so freaking gay around here.

Ten sighs heavily, and Jimin wraps his hand around his waist to bring him close and share his sadness. 

“You can’t sleep without him, too?” He wonders quietly, and Ten sighs again. 

“Barely,” he confesses bitterly. “And most of the time, I have nightmares only he can chase away.”

“Same here.” Jimin sighs. “We’re really messed up, eh?”

They watch the cars pull out of the Street, their black frames fading into the darkness. Here it goes. 

“We wouldn’t fit here any other way,” Ten muses, and Jimin agrees. 

They wouldn’t.

XI

It’s late.

Vernon looks at the clock on the wall, the beating of its hands loud in the empty office. Eleven thirteen. He swallows. 

“So what my superiors want to know is...” His visitor says, a smug expression on his face barely covered up by the shadows. “Are you ready to lose everything you’ve worked so hard for?”

He grits his jaw. This arrogant bitch. 

“Let’s stop playing around, shall we?” He leans back in his chair and crosses his arms on his chest. “You basically want me to give up everything I have on the gangs, and in return, you guarantee my safety in the war?”

His interlocutor tilts his head funnily, and Vernon thinks it’d be a perfect opportunity to stab his neck with a letter opener. He has experience. He swallows. 

“The gangs will fall one way or the other.” The guy shrugs. “And you won’t be in luck if you’re still on their side when it happens. Your activities are well known to my superiors.”

“And who might that be?” He arches his eyebrow sarcastically even though he genuinely wishes to know. Nowadays, there are more players than it used to be. Something tells him it’s more than the board can handle. 

The guy smirks but stays silent, and the letter opener plan seems more appealing by the second. He takes a deep breath through his nose. 

“What exactly do they need from me?” He asks gravely, his limbs heavy from the pressure. There’s only one way out of the situation he’s in. “To shield me from what’s to come?”

The guy smiles wider, cheeky grin making acid burn in Vernon’s bloodstream. Arrogant, stupid shit. Eleven fifteen. 

“You helped handle a lot of cases involving the gang members.” The guy leans forward, his elbows on his knees. Vernon thinks that one shot at the chandelier above him would take him out. He stays motionless. “We need the files. Real ones. The ones that can bring actual convictions.”

Vernon raises his eyebrows in surprise and chuckles disbelievingly. 

“First of all, why are you sure they even exist? If the jury says my clients are innocent, then so it is,” he says and licks his lips. “It’s the basis of our entire justice system.”

The guy snorts and rolls his eyes, the bullshit not flying with him. It’s okay. Vernon doesn’t need him to believe. 

“And what’s ‘second’?”

Vernon bites the inside of his cheek. 

“Second of all,” he breathes out as he leans forward. “If such files existed, what makes you believe I would keep them around?”

There’s a flash of amusement in the man’s eyes. 

“Let’s stop playing around, shall we?” He repeats Vernon’s words right back at him. “You needed to guarantee your safety somehow, didn’t you? Criminals aren’t exactly the trustworthy lot.”

Criminals aren’t. Their criminal family is. It’s almost funny, how this righteous asshole still believes they’re a usual gang after a month of fighting them. He wonders if that _Red Velvet_ girl shares the perceptions of her people. She must know who they really are if she believes she can take them down. She must at least guess how much they value each other. How impossible the betrayal is for them. Even if Vernon would somehow to turn away from the Brothers, there is a family in this town he would never sell out. 

He smiles briefly.

“I don’t have any choice but to agree, then, do I?” He schools his expression into a regretful one as if the decision isn’t easy for him. 

The guy leans back in his chair, another smug smile on his lips, and Vernon smiles back tightly, his fist clenching around a set of keys. 

He stands up and goes for the door, stopping before it to check that the man is following. 

“You wouldn’t expect me to keep everything in my office, would you?” He says with his eyebrow arched. 

The guy frowns and swallows, but follows him outside nevertheless. Gotcha. 

The court building is quiet and dark at such an hour. Their steps are hollow against the marble floor, the shadows dancing on the walls as they pass the courtrooms and offices. 

“I have my own share in the archive,” Vernon explains as they go down to the basement past the hall. 

He salutes the statue of Lady Justice sarcastically and checks the time. 

Eleven nineteen. 

He presses his fingers to the security screen, listening to the sound of the lock opening loudly in the empty room. They walk inside, and he shuts the door firmly after him. It’s dark, and he feels for the switch with his hand. 

“Isn’t there supposed to be security?” The guy asks from the dark, wary. 

Vernon smiles as he locates the switch. 

“Oh, the guards are here.”

The lights come on, blinding them for a second, but it’s not a concern for now. He closes his eyes and waits for it to come — and finally, there’s a mask on his face, someone’s hand pressing it firmly to make sure he doesn’t inhale the shit that’s about to hit. 

He hears a scream and smiles. There’s a hissing sound, and by the time he opens his eyes, the room is filled with purple smoke. Wooseok is standing beside him, still pressing the mask to his face, and Vernon nods gratefully, securing it on his face to walk further. 

When the smoke dissipates, the guy who tried to make him sell out his family is lying on the floor, his face twisted in the expression of great fear, his eyes open so wide it looks unnatural, his lips covered in white foam. 

Jinho is sitting on top of him, a filled syringe in his hand, and he is — pouting. 

“This new gas is strong,” he whines, upset. Wooseok rubs his shoulder in sympathy. “I didn’t even get to use the potion.”

Vernon rolls his eyes and motions for him to get off the guy. 

“So,” he drawls, leaning over him. He looks already dead but there’s still something alive in his eyes, and that’s enough. “You really thought I could sell out, eh?”

He clicks his tongue in disappointment as he watches the seizures go over the man’s body, his skin getting bluer by the second. The foam in his mouth gradually turns red. 

“They’re getting more stupid by the day, I swear.” He sighs as he steps away, tilting his head to look over the guy’s clothes.

Wooseok clears his throat as he crouches beside him, his own mask decorated with Hello Kitty stickers. Unbelievable. But somehow appropriate. 

“Boss said to get him to the Underworld,” Wooseok says with his lips pursed. “Hoped he wouldn’t die so quickly, though. Corpses are heavy.”

“Tell Hades I said hi,” Vernon answers with a hum. “And thanks for responding so fast.”

“We were in the area when Aether called.” Jinho shrugs as he puts his syringe back in the holster. “You need a ride home?”

“Nah.”

It’s somehow domestic. Here they are — three criminals standing over a dead guy and making small talk. Vernon chuckles. 

Jeonghan promised to pick him up today, and he already imagines the speech he’s going to get for not calling for help himself and waiting until someone spotted an intruder in his office and called for the guards. At least the system works. 

He almost leaves the basement before he remembers something and turns to Wooseok. 

“By the way, Ares asked me to pull up an old case.” He frowns, recalling the details. “Park Jimin’s assault? He wanted to know if there’s something strange. There was. The case never went to the jury. The father was admitted insane and sent to the hospital without a proper trial. The cops handled it all themselves, but the arresting officer wasn’t Kim.“

“Who was it?” Jinho frowns as Wooseok throws the body over his shoulder. It’s impressive. 

“Some guy named Anvil.”

He opens the door to help them pass through and locks it after them, making sure not to leave any of their prints around. 

“I didn’t find anything on him, though, but Hemera is working on it.”

Wooseok makes a humming sound, indicating that they’ll transfer the info to Ares, and they part ways, the boys coming out of the back exit, choosing discretion over Jinho’s wish to parade a dead body over a court hall.

Vernon gets back to his office, his steps now sole and quiet. He smiles. 

If Seulgi really wants to bring down the Underworld, she needs to learn her lesson. 

They don’t do betrayal.

XI

It’s dark and cold. Jimin shivers and rubs his hands together, but there’s no much use because he doesn’t even feel his palms, let alone the warmth they’re supposed to bring. He swallows and looks around the corner. 

Shapes moving in shadows, everything either too blurry or too bright to distinguish anything specific, and all the sounds are dull and muffled as if he’s underwater. He takes a breath just to check that he’s alive. 

Suddenly, there’s a movement on his left, and he ducks behind a dumpster, gripping the metallic edge with shaking fingers.

“I’m ready, Yoongi!”

He peeks out and blinks to try and see who’s talking but he doesn’t need to look at their face because his brain supplies him with information — Ten. Calaïs. 

The other man comes into view, and finally, there’s clarity in Jimin’s vision, Yoongi’s face sharp and defined in the otherwise blurry picture. He feels his breathing quicken. He needs to talk to him, he needs to tell him something important, they’re coming for him! Ares needs to know!

“And I say you’re not,” Yoongi huffs, his arms crossed as he’s measuring Ten with his gaze. His lips are pursed, his posture strict. “If I let you out in the field before I’m sure you can handle it, Taeyong will cut my dick off.”

“He’s not the boss of me!” Ten shouts with his hands in the air but Yoongi just chuckles.

“Well, I am.” He shrugs and moves along, and Jimin knows — this is it. He needs to face him now. 

He doesn’t get to stand up. There are hands on his neck and shoulders, and someone is pressing a cloth to his mouth and nose, and the last thing he sees before the darkness takes him is Yoongi’s retreating back. 

Jimin wakes up with a gasp, clutching his heart, his breathing heavy as he tries to remember how to properly use his lungs. His head spins, his stomach turning from nausea. 

Alright. Reality check, just like Ten taught him. He looks around him. The same room, the same painting across from the bed, the same balcony door, covered by a curtain so heavy he didn’t even notice it at first, the mirror, the entrance to the armory. Okay. He’s okay. He’s in Yoongi’s room at the Hotel, so he’s safe. 

He closes his eyes and counts his breaths, doing the routine — one in, was it a dream?, one out, looked more like a flashback.

He can actually recall the details of this one, so he’s almost sure that this was a real memory, resurfacing in his mind as his body is slowly healing from the influence of the drug. Alright. 

Every time he gets one of these, he wonders how many nightmares he couldn’t remember were actually his memories. How many times did he dismiss the messages given to him by his mind as delusions and fake? He sighs. 

He should probably go find Ten. 

They’ve gotten close over the past three weeks, mostly thanks to the fact they both can barely sleep and like to overachieve.

Jimin can’t count the times they ended up in each other’s rooms because it felt too lonely in their own — and he stopped correcting himself when he calls Yoongi’s room his own. Yeah. 

The bond was an easy one to establish — they both love dancing and dishing about the others. Ten told him that he received professional training back at the brothel and used to dance until he was old enough to perform other services, after which he alternated between the two. 

Jimin noticed something about the way Ten talks about his past. He’s not resigned, and he has not forgiven those people for what they did to him, but he has accepted it as a part of his life and fate, his past not defining him but providing an understanding of how he sees the world. 

Jimin once saw a tattoo on his back when they were changing after practice, and Ten looked at him long and hard and told him the story of how a little but bold ‘X’ ended up on his shoulder blade. 

“Uranus had a system.” Ten swallowed, not meeting Jimin’s eyes, his fists flexing. “He had a lot of employees, but there were ones who... Were the best. Taken in at a young age and trained to be the most elite and professional pleasure hosts. Now, Triple H call everyone that because they’re actually being treated like hosts rather than prisoners, but back then, you had to be Uranus’ little project to get a title.”

He bit the inside of his cheek, his eyes glazed over. Jimin felt lost but some instinct inside told him to sit closer and put his head on Ten’s shoulder, and it helped as Ten took a deep breath and continued in a steadier voice. 

“I was one of the Numbered. The best of the best. I won’t tell you how old I was when I got inside, because I barely have any memories of before that, but in all my time there, I witnessed the appearance of six consecutive Numbered.” He stretched his neck with a dry chuckle. “There was only one way out of being one if you got branded. Some client got a little bit carried away, or you got so tired you ‘accidentally’ overdosed, or something more creative, but... The outcome was always the same.”

Jimin shivered and pressed closer, taking Ten’s hand in his to offer comfort. 

“You can stop talking if it’s too hard,” he whispered, but Ten just shook his head with a stubborn look to him. 

“I have to say it,” he confessed. “Anyway, I always knew I will be one of the Numbered. Uranus favored me and even protected me from the worst stuff from time to time. I worked the Olympus manor for a few years before I got tattooed. I still remember the day Hwitaek came into my room and told me that Nine was found in her room with a noose around her neck.”

His entire body seized then as he tried to control his emotions, and Jimin squeezed his bicep. Don’t hold back. Let it pass.

“I remember sitting there and feeling how they ink me, and thinking — so how much time do I have left?” He turned to look at Jimin without seeing him. “All those years thinking I am special only to sit there and realize that they are etching my death sentence into my skin. Like, some kids got out, you know? Escaped or were bailed out, and I always hoped that I can be one of them, but now I had a literal target drawn on my back, and I was just one of the kids who grew up and would die inside the walls of that fucking place.”

“But you didn’t,” Jimin whispered heatedly, his fingers white from how tight he was squeezing his hand. “You said there was only one way out of being the Numbered, but you got creative.”

“Yeah.” Ten chuckled and rubbed his eyes. “I did. But if it weren’t for Taeyong, I would be dead anyway. Uranus sent his guy after me, and if Tae didn’t get there in time...”

They fell silent after that, and Jimin felt that itching feeling to tell him to call Taeyong again. They’ve been talking here and there, and they seemingly made up, but Jimin knew they didn’t actually _talk_.

“So you turned out to be special in the end, eh?” Jimin said softly with a soft smile. “You may have been branded as Ten, but for Taeyong, you’re number One.”

There was a beat of silence, and then they both laughed, and in that loud free sound, Jimin felt the weight of the story lift off both their shoulders. 

“Oh gods, that was so lame,” Ten groaned through his wide smile, and Jimin shrugged shamelessly. 

“Did I lie?”

Ten shook his head and bit his lip, rubbing his neck. 

“Nah.” He sniffed and smiled briefly. “I really need to talk to him, gods.”

Jimin bit his lip and looked down before speaking up, reluctant to tell his thoughts but knowing it had to be done. 

“You said the reason you were so hurt was that your fairytale turned out to be just a happy chance of fate.” He made sure to keep his voice quiet and soft. They’re not enemies. They are, in fact, friends. “But isn’t it beautiful nevertheless? Darling, you survived a literal nightmare, and you managed to stay true to yourself. And Taeyong didn’t fall in love with you because he thought you his little project. He did so because you were you. You still are.”

Ten’s eyes were wet then, and he took a deep breath to steady himself. 

“And he’s really remorseful about lying,” Jimin continued, feeling more steady with every step. This is his area of expertise, somehow, despite his own mess of a love life. “But he wanted to feel special, too. Someone who got burned by love so greatly, but was still granted a soulmate. And he wanted his story to be more pretty than it really was. Don’t we all?”

Later that night, Ten came into his room radiating happiness and talking so fast Jimin barely got the gist of it — he actually talked to Taeyong, honestly and without any reservations, and Jimin got so happy that they started dancing around the room, and in that moment of loud, chaotic happiness, the friendship was born. 

Ten is beautiful. It’s easy to like him. His energy is bright ultramarine, shining through his fingertips and his smile, his power undeniable. He’s truly like the wind — strong and unyielding, adapting fast, learning how to survive wherever he is. There’s soft violet on his edges, the presence of Taeyong so strong in his life that it’s intertwined in his own energy, a vital part of it. Jimin can see why they fit so well. 

He misses Yoongi, and it’s obvious and stopped being something he’s refusing to admit a long time ago. They talk and text, Yoongi keeping to his promise of helping Jimin fall asleep, but it’s not the same. It’s not enough. 

Yes, he drifts off as Yoongi tells him about his day, but it takes his brain about an hour to decide it’s had enough rest and send him another freaking nightmare that makes him want to claw his eyes out. He can’t sleep, always catching an hour or two whenever he can but always waking up because his mind is on fire, the flashbacks Jiyong promised so frequent that Jimin sometimes cannot distinguish between them and simple delusions. He’s afraid of what his memory keeps throwing at him, and so he’s stuffing it with psychology and sociology, revising for his finals until he can’t keep his eyes open — only to wake up an hour later in cold sweat and start the whole process again. 

It’s too much for his body, he knows it — the studying, and the stress, and the training he does every day, driving Ten mad with his persistency. But he’s getting good, he knows it. And Ten has his own reasons to still stick with him. 

Both Yoongi and Taeyong are busy with whatever they’re doing in the other city, so whenever one of them texts or calls, Jimin and Ten always exchange news, keeping each other up to date on the affairs of their... Well, it’s boyfriend for Ten, and who knows what for Jimin. 

Yoongi is his something. More than a friend, less than a lover. A fact that Jimin finds himself whining about more often lately, Ten and Taehyung being the poor victims subjected to his thirsting. They get together almost every day now, tasting the tea collection Ten has been gathering for months without a company to drink it with, and talk about “their boys.” It’s lame but also nice. Jungkook comes around midnight to collect his fiancé, and they leave for their own rooms, and he calls Yoongi to fall asleep only to wake up again an hour later. 

He’s taken up a habit of sharing his sufferings with Ten. It was awkward to knock on his door the first time he did it, but the man opened his door eagerly, his own mind refusing to go to sleep without Taeyong by his side. They’ve made up, and Jimin is happy for him, so fucking happy that they’re okay now, but he still feels something hidden deep inside Ten’s soul, still alive despite all the talks and honest conversations, and they both know it’s there but ignore it in favor of keeping each other company when Taehyung is occupied with Jungkook. 

And so it’s them, Ten and Jimin, doing whatever they can — from watching cat videos to Ten teaching Jimin how to paralyze a man with two movements — to put off the moment they have to go to sleep again. More often than not, they stay together, talking until dawn or sleepiness takes them away, and they fall asleep huddled together. It’s nice — to wake up in cold sweat from another nightmare and find someone who gets it near him, and Ten sings him that lullaby Jimin first heard during his freakout, and they talk quietly until they’re able to fall back asleep. Ten has night terrors too, and while Jimin isn’t an expert at soothing his nerves, he still messages his neck and tells him stupid stories or reads passages from his textbooks in hushed whispers until they're both able to pass out again. 

And Ten is a good teacher. Jimin doesn’t have that much time for training because the deadlines are moving in faster than he can handle, but every spare second he has is spent in the training room. Even at night, when it gets too much for both him and Ten, they go down and keep on fighting. 

It’s easy to fight, and he’s learning fast. Ten doesn’t say it out loud, but Xiaojun shared that Jimin got through a two-months beginners stage in a week. He’s getting stronger, and faster, and more skilled, and Ten asks him to stop overworking himself because it’s too much even for their standards, but Jimin just takes five minutes to rest and asks to go again. When he’s thinking about the moves he has to make to protect himself, he’s not thinking about how much he misses Yoongi. When his instincts take over to fight off the attackers, they don’t feel the urge to go find the one they want to be next to.

And it’s not just about the distraction. He’s finding himself in the sharp movements of his body, fighting being close to dancing but more cruel and dirty — and it’s natural. It seems right to be able to defend himself, inflict pain, feel the rush of adrenaline as he moves through the training room. Some part of him keeps wishing for it to be a battlefield, and it’s frightening, but it’s also exciting. 

Coupled with him finally finding the strength to look at his diaries, it’s progress. He’s learning about his past, using his flashbacks not as a plague that blackens his soul but a source of information he can use to defend the Underworld. 

The more he goes through the notes, the more he wonders if they’re everything there is. Everything that is in the boxes are the profiles, dry and almost official, only a tiny portion of personal remarks. There’s supposed to be something more, it seems, the personal journals that touch on what he felt about his observations. He keeps finding some pages, ripped out from their original notebooks, and those look more like his diary — his feelings and thoughts, fears and hopes, scribbled in haste and with emotion, but they’re just a small part of the bigger picture that he cannot find in none of the boxes. 

And it’s all in disarray, the system he once worked out destroyed and messed up, but he can see a clear pattern of his affections and focuses all throughout the summer.

It’s Yoongi. A lot of him. He wasn’t able to locate the notes from the beginning, but he knows that something happened with Yoongi that started it all.

The threat he was fearing seemed to become more real by the third week of August, which makes it so much harder to determine what it was, because he was so cautious he never mentioned it on paper — and even if he did, the parts of it are lost or misplaced, or hidden by someone who wanted Jimin to find the boxes but not the truth. 

His room looks a mess — college papers, his notes, and clothes he doesn’t have the energy to throw in the hamper, and he puts off cleaning up because the empty room will only remind him how lonely he is. 

He has to hand it to Yoongi — they seem really preoccupied over there, but he still finds time to always text him to remind that he’s not alone, and Jimin smiles like an idiot at his phone, and challenges him to a duel once he’s back, because Jimin is getting better at fighting, and they still have to break even for that time Yoongi put a knife to his throat. Yoongi sends him a pouting selfie, and Jimin yells into a pillow. They work. 

He asked Jungkook about it once — if it’s just him or does Yoongi gets along so well with everyone. 

They’ve taken up to meeting every two days after Kook found Jimin in the dark living room on the first floor at five in the morning, his hands buried in his hair as he revised that Freud bitch. 

“Everything he said has been proven to be wrong,” Jimin whispered frantically when he saw Jungkook standing over him with a worried look. “Then why the fuck do I have it on my exam?”

“Yeah, you’re having a break,” Jungkook declared and shooed him away to the thirteenth floor, which apparently has a pool. 

They swim together now sometimes, and it’s more relaxing than Jimin expected. Mostly because Jungkook threatens him with death if he tries to run off to study or fight more. He knows Kook won’t go through with it, but it’s still terrifying, and Jimin’s system needs an excuse to slack off, so he agrees and keeps swimming like a good boy. Taehyung joins them sometimes, but he has his own studying to do, and no matter how collected and laid back he usually is, Kim Taehyung is officially the greatest bitch in this city when he’s revising. He doesn’t even want to go to college anymore, but the collective pressure of Jungkook and Jimin make him keep going, and he grinds obediently, disappearing into the observatory somewhere in the attic. The thing with their friendship is that they work on all levels — except one. The years have taught them that they’re brilliant at copying each other’s homework, but when it comes to revising, their brains refuse to do any freaking progress when they sense the other near. It’s not even procrastination — it’s this overpowering urge to do absolutely everything except studying, and it’s been proven by practice that they’re smart apart but when together, they share exactly one brain cell, and that bitch hates revising with a passion. One time in the first year, they built a fort all around Jimin’s house when they were supposed to be studying, and it was decided then and there that they keep away from each other when there’s a need to memorize anything. 

And so usually it’s Jimin and Jungkook, spending quiet time together in the confines of the pool, and it was a bit awkward at first, but the bond once established eventually started to grow, and it’s not unusual for them now to settle on the edge of the pool over the game of chess — at which Jimin is terrible, or Jungkook throwing strategy and logic riddles at Jimin — at which he is surprisingly good. 

“Let me riddle you this now,” Jimin says when the thoughts of Yoongi become too overwhelming once again. “He doesn’t seem like an easygoing person. But I’m yet to see someone who doesn’t like him.”

Jungkook smirks and rubs his temple as he moves his knight. Jimin doesn’t even bother looking at the board, he knows he’s going to lose anyway. He moves a figure aimlessly and looks up again. 

“Just because Yoongi doesn’t show a lot of emotions, it doesn’t mean he doesn’t have any,” Jungkook says thoughtfully with a little smile. 

“That’s not what I mean.” Jimin huffs, shaking his wet hair. “I’m aware he has emotions, and they’re really strong. But... He doesn’t seem like a type to be friends with everyone he meets.”

Jungkook moves his bishop and rubs his lips with a sigh. There’s something resigned in his eyes.

“What do you want me to say, Min?” He asks tiredly. “That he just likes you the mostest? What is this, kindergarten?”

Jimin throws a pickle at him, which he promptly catches and puts in his mouth with a happy smirk. Gang leader, yeah. 

“I can’t believe you’re going to be my soulmate-in-law.” He sighs as Jungkook smiles even wider. 

“Listen.” He swallows and wipes at his lips. “People respect him because he does his shit, and he does it well. People admire him because he’s the best at his job. People like him because whenever he walks into the room, you just know that the mess you’re in will be dealt with.”

Jimin swallows and takes a deep breath, moving a figure and taking Jungkook’s pawn. Kook clicks his tongue. 

“And he doesn’t show it to people outside our little circle, but he’s kind,” he continues. “And he doesn’t boast about it. He gives half of his salary away, for fuck’s sake. We have this thing going, we call it a loan pool, yeah? People sometimes come to ask for money, and we loan it to them or exchange them for some favors. It’s supposed to be gang money, but more often than not, it’s Yoongi’s personal funds.”

Jimin blinks. It sounds strange but believable. Yoongi is thoughtful and generous, and it shows in all the little things he does for Jimin — sunflowers he keeps bringing him from time to time, and trinkets he finds during work, and the way he always seems to guess Jimin’s mood and act accordingly. Fucking caring punk. Disgusting. Jimin is falling for him more every day. 

“But you’re still special, I have to admit.”

Jimin perks up at that, missing the move Jungkook makes, but that’s the least of his concerns now. He blinks fast and opens his mouth in a silent question. Kook arches an eyebrow. 

“That’s what you wanted to hear, didn’t you?” He smirks again, and Jimin contemplates throwing something else at him. It’s becoming a habit of his. “But it’s obvious. He’s never been _this_ accommodating to someone. And like, I’m not just his boss. We _talk_.”

The sly expression with which he emphasizes the word makes Jimin think that he would be a fantastic addition to their daily dishing sessions. He may be a preoccupied gang leader, but Jeon Jungkook sure loves gossip. 

“And what do you talk about?” Jimin asks carefully, looking over the board and making a move. 

“Things,” Kook hums, and yeah, he deserves to have something thrown at him. “Stuff.”

Jimin snorts and rolls his eyes, following the movements of Kook’s hand on the board. He shifts a figure and looks up again.

“Just tell me if he’s real with me,” he asks, more serious this time than he’s been this entire conversation. 

Jungkook takes a long look at him and smiles genuinely, his eyes lighting up before his lips stretch. 

“More real than he’s been his entire life,” he answers softly, and Jimin puts his palms to his chest in a sudden wave of bashfulness. It feels warm. “Also, you won.”

He blinks in surprise as he looks at the board to see that Jungkook is right. He didn’t even notice how he took his king. Amazing. 

His phone chimes with a text, and he blinks, his mind coming back to reality. He looks down on it and sees Taehyung’s name pop up, but before he can even read the message, there’s a knock on the door, followed by an extremely disheveled Taehyung in his pajama bottoms. 

He throws himself on the bed, and Jimin blinks down at him, stunned.

“You good, babe?” He asks cautiously, stroking Tae’s back. 

There’s a prolonged groan in response, and he lies down with a sigh. Tae turns his head to look at him, his eyes red. 

“Did you know real bananas don’t even exist anymore?”

Jimin stares at him long and hard, trying to figure out if he can still make a run for it. Taehyung wouldn’t kill him in a psychotic episode, right? He absolutely cannot die over bananas.

“Baby, you’re majoring in Literature,” he says carefully. 

Taehyung blinks and smiles like he’s having a seizure. 

“Do you think Robinson and Friday fucked?” It’s said with the same indifferent humor, and Jimin honestly thinks about calling someone to give Taehyung a sleeping draught. 

“I mean,” Jimin muses, his lips pursed, his mind kicking into gear and the usual pattern of following Taehyung’s thought processes, no matter how insane they might seem. “It was kinda lonely.”

They stare at each other for a solid minute until Tae breaks first and starts laughing hysterically, Jimin following suit as he falls down on the bed near him, the residual fear from the dream stepping away. Yeah, Taehyung is his constant cure. 

“I’m so fucking tired,” Tae groans eventually, his hands going to wrap around Jimin’s waist to pull his closer. Jimin goes eagerly, hugging him with his arms and legs. “Let’s just sleep until someone kicks us out.”

Jimin hums as he throws a blanket over the two of them, his brain already close to shutting down. 

“I wish we could, but we still need to graduate,” he says with a sigh. Even he’s done with everything, and that’s telling, considering how he’s the one who actually wants to get that freaking degree, no matter how much he despises almost everything associated with it. “So we’ll just sleep for a few hours and get started again.”

Taehyung whines loudly but doesn’t say anything, his eyes already closed. Jimin smiles slightly and kisses his forehead. 

“We’ll be okay,” he whispers. “We’ll get our diplomas and figure out what to do next later.”

“I’m marrying the King of Hell,” Taehyung mumbles half-asleep. “I don’t need no education.”

Jimin giggles under his breath and hugs him closer, his eyes falling shut. 

“Sure, Jan.”

And until the morning comes, he doesn’t dream of anything but bananas and criminals dressed like Robinson Crusoe.

XI

His steps sound hollow in the deepest end of the basement. Seokjin fixes his tie tiredly and grabs a chair near one of the cells. This block has been empty for years, ever since their main prisoner was put in here, but he still looks around to make sure he isn’t being followed. 

The flower on the wood of the door is the first thing he notices. He closes his eyes and sighs briefly before picking it and falling on the chair tiredly. He twirls the flowers in his fingers with a sad smile. A pink poppy. Peculiar. 

“You seem uneasy.”

He looks up and at the little grated window on the door, but there’s nothing but the moonlight shining through. He bites his lips and chuckles. 

“And you seem to care.” His voice echoes through the hallway. There’s a thoughtful hum from the cell. 

“We were friends once, were we not?” The voice is suspiciously calm and even after years of silence. He used to scream for answers, but there was only silence, yet since recently, the prisoner starts the conversations first, and Seokjin is neither stupid nor ignorant. He knows the timing is too precise to be coincidental.

Persephone coming to the Underworld seemed to have affected them all, even those who aren’t supposed to be getting any news down here. 

“We were,” he agrees, looking back down at the poppy. “You’re getting stronger.”

There’s a whisper of clothes and a soft laugh. He watches how another flower grows in the place of the one he picked. He clicks his tongue. 

“Are you not mad?” It’s high and intrigued, and he leans back in the chair, tilting his head as he watches a shadow pass through the window. 

“I would expect myself to be,” he muses with a frown. “But some part of me… Misses you.”

The laughter is loud and ironic, and he purses his lips but stays silent. He deserves that. 

“Do not expect me to feel sorry for you, Mnemosyne.” The mockery in the voice reminds him of the times the person behind that door still stood by his side, guiding him in times he thought himself lost. He sighs. 

“I don’t,” he says honestly and stands up. “But the things have changed, my dear. In some ways, I am more of a prisoner than you are.”

He comes closer to the door in time to see the hand wrap around the bars and a face appear in the window, pale skin still as beautiful and young. The tilt of the head, the sharp eyes, the curve of the eyebrows — it’s all still the same. 

“How are the boys, Mnemosyne?” It’s low now, more gentle, and he grits his teeth. 

“Alive,” he says curtly, handing the flower through the grates. It disappears with the touch of cold fingers around his. He flinches. 

“Will they stay that way?” The inquiry is natural and expected, but there’s still fear deep in the bright eyes. All these years in lockup, and they are still as bright. 

He wants to answer honestly, but here is the catch — he does not know himself. Things keep getting out of hand, and perhaps, the reason he is here today after months of ignoring the existence of this cell is that he wants someone else to have all the answers for once. He touches those cold fingers again, this time willingly, and looks deep into the eyes that remember more than their owner is willing to admit.

“Nothing can stop the plan now,” he whispers feverishly, inhaling the fresh air of the cell, the windows inside always open per the prisoner’s request. 

“Are you convincing me?” Their faces are close now, and he notices how the years of imprisonment added some madness to an always sharp look. It’s barely noticeable but it’s there, and he questions his decisions once again. “Or asking me to help?”

He doesn’t know. He is Mnemosyne, yet he does not know. 

“Because you see, my dear friend…” The grip on his fingers is strong and almost painful, but he awaits hungrily for every word. “You are more than capable to put a stop to it all yourself.”

“It’s not that easy.”

“Oh, but it is!” Another laugh, high and sarcastic, and he grits his teeth in annoyance. He hates being laughed at. “It was that easy forty years ago, and it was that easy ten years ago, and it is that easy now.”

The memories flash before his eyes, and they sting from the onslaught of emotions associated with them, and years of guilt and triumph mix together to push on his lungs and make him gasp for air. 

“You are still in control, Mnemosyne. Even if you think that it was taken from you.”

“I truly miss you,” he confesses shakily but regrets it as soon as it’s out. The way the eyes across from him soften just reminds him how weak he really is. 

“I miss the times it was simple,” sounds back, and he frowns to keep his face collected. “But we had to go and mess that up, huh? So selfish, the three of us.”

“Just me and you,” he corrects with a nostalgic smile. “I bullied him into helping us, so he’s not the one to blame. He’s the only one repenting now, anyway.”

They share a sad smile, the traces of the friendship long lost, and he sighs, tilting his head. There are cold fingers on his cheek, and he closes his eyes.

“Fight back, Mnemosyne.”

He sighs and looks long and hard at the strength in the gaze, curious and confused. 

“I locked you in here,” he says quietly. “Tore you away from your life and left you alone in the dark. And you encourage me to keep going?”

There’s a chuckle and a shrug, and he watches the slender figure go away from the door and twirl in a little dance, the robes flying in the air like violet wings.

“It is an infinite difference between us, my friend!” He watches the movement cautiously, catching every word in hopes of hearing a revelation. “I always knew where I was going. I know and accept my fate. Why do you think it was so easy for you to lock me up? Because I went willingly.”

He wants to argue and remind what really happened, but the paralyzing truth is that he always wondered why the plan worked so smoothly, and for years, a tiny traitorous voice at the back of his head was nagging at him, pointing him at the explanation he was avoiding. 

“You wrote the script, Mnemosyne.” The figure is still dancing, and flowers keep growing from every step, and he wishes to turn back time. “But you are the one who keeps trying to deny it.”

There’s a flash of movement, and the hands are back on the grates, and he feels so — cold. 

“Aphrodite would never follow it, even if you chained him to your lines.” It’s hasty and rasp, the whisper that sends a shiver down his spine. “And you are a fool if you believe anything can work to keep him away from his fate. That friend of yours can try all he wants, but not a drop of poison, not a wisp of magic, not anything — will stop the god of love.”

He’s suddenly angry, and he hits the wood with his fist, blood rushing to his face and clouding his vision. 

“ _You know what I’m really trying to do_ ,” he seethes, heating up with every second, his anger fueled by the mocking smirk across. “And _he_ is no friend of mine. Never.”

This time, he expects the laughter, and he breathes heavily in anger as he waits for the fit to pass. 

“Fool.” Mockery. Again. “You are a fool, then, Mnemosyne, my darling! Weakling! What are you so afraid of?”

He turns away from the cell, rubbing his lips, irritated at himself for letting his emotions take over. He knows he’s being taunted, played, and he despises that it almost works.

He takes a deep breath and goes back to the window, meeting the amused eyes.

“Zeus must always remain where he is,” he says simply, and the disappointment he witnesses in the irises across tastes bitter on his tongue. 

“Keep the boys safe, Mnemosyne.” It sounds like the end of the conversation, and he is the one supposed to be in control of that, but he knows he won’t be able to get another word out as he watches the figure go back into the shadows, lowering on the bed and turning away to the wall. 

Seokjin puts his forehead on the wood and breathes out. He hoped to lift his spirits by coming here, but the only thing he will be leaving with is more exhaustion. 

“You act so righteously,” he adds tiredly as an afterthought. “As if you were not the one who came to me in the first place. As if you were not the one who started this.”

There is no response, but he wasn’t waiting for one. He caresses the flowers on the wood one more time before leaving, his soul as empty as the corridors he’s passing on his way back to the manor. 

The Muses are in the training room, laughter and sounds of fighting subsiding when he enters. He smiles at them and asks them to resume the practice, and Yuta nods curtly before giving orders to pair up. Seokjin finds Kun in the rows and tilts his head when the boy meets his eyes. 

He waits for him outside, the conversation in the basement still ringing in his head. How fucking righteous and smart that idiot sounded, as if Jin is the one who keeps messing it up. In a way, he does, but he is tired of the blame always going to him when all he does is keeping this city the way it is supposed to be. 

The door opens, and Kun emerges, his hair wet from the sweat and his glasses sliding down his nose. 

“Clio,” he greets the Muse with a smile, his spirits lifting at the sight of one of his boys so healthy and full of life. “I will not keep you away from your training for long.”

“Is there something you need me to do, Father?” Kun wonders in that unique non-intrusive manner of his that lets his interlocutor know that any answer will be met with a smile and cool-headed reaction. Kun makes people want to trust him, and it is a valuable and irreplaceable trait in the soldier of the Olympus. 

“Just wanted to make sure that our arrangement is still in place.”

Nobody else would notice the subtle change in Kun’s expression, but Seokjin was the one who taught him the art of deception, so he follows the barely-there twitch of his lips with his eyes. Kun nods slightly and meets his gaze. 

“Everything is secure and safe, Father.” His voice is even and serious. Seokjin nods with pride. 

“Good. Thank you, dear. You can go back inside.”

Kun smiles curtly and slips inside the room to resume his training, and Seokjin sighs as he senses the wariness coming from his Clio. He knows his Muses will always be loyal to him, yet something makes him wonder if he is the only one they will ever pledge allegiance to. 

He already lost two of them, after all.

XI

“Come on, I know you can do better!”

Jimin grits his teeth and fixes the blindfold before taking a deep breath and assessing his surroundings. The music is soft in the background, and he tries tuning it out like Ten taught him, but it’s hard enough to fight with his vision intact when he’s so exhausted, and it seems impossible to be able to deflect the attack without actually seeing what’s he's fighting against. 

“You don’t want Yoongi to come back and think you haven’t learned anything, do you?”

It’s a bait, he knows it is, and he knows he shouldn’t take it and become too emotional, but he still seethes dangerously, heating up. Ten knows how to push his buttons.

Yoongi called a few hours ago, his face tired as they were driving somewhere, his smile sad as he told Jimin they'd be back a bit later. Jimin knows what it means — not soon enough — and it’s exactly what made him burst into Ten’s room and whine into his sleepy shoulder about how unfair and cruel it all is. It’s been more than three weeks, and they keep promising to be back soon, but the new day comes, and they’re still alone. Ten sighed and offered to have a training session, and now it’s four in the morning, the music is blaring all around them, and Jimin is blindfolded, trying to determine from which side Ten will attack. 

They’re training him to be more in control of his surroundings, and all the jokes about sensory deprivation kink became old after fifteen minutes of him in a blindfold, and he’s exhausted but still keeps going. Ten is ruthless and resilient, but they just got off the break he made them have because Jimin is pushing himself too hard. 

There’s something on his left, and he turns around, throwing the hand with his wooden knife forward, smiling in victory when he feels how he hits Ten’s ribs. 

“Good boy,” Ten praises him with a chuckle, and Jimin snorts as he adjusts his blindfold. 

“Kinky,” he comments, stretching his neck. 

His back is covered in sweat, but he doesn’t pay it much heed, enjoying the cooling wind on his skin from the open window. He can hear the sounds of the city waking up behind the beat of indie, and he aligns his breathing to the rhythm of the music, rolling his body in an impromptu dancing. Ten laughs in joy, and Jimin imagines him copying the movements before Jimin lunges at him, both his daggers flying in the air as Ten deflects the hits, and they dance around each other for a long time in this intricate chaos of fighting. He hears the door open at some point and thinks about the kids waking up for their early training. He’s not self-conscious, and he doesn’t plan on being, so he ignores them and doesn’t think about the way they’re looking at him and judging if he’s made enough progress for their boss to appreciate. 

At some point, Jimin sends another hit but it meets the empty air, and he stops abruptly, realizing that Ten has gone somewhere. He lowers his head, listening intently to the movements in the air, Ten’s energy already familiar enough he can pick up on its vibrations even blindfolded. He has to admit — this sensory thing is working, because he can already feel stronger and more attuned to the movements of the air, and so when a hit comes from the back, he expertly ducks, turning in midair and sending one of his daggers flying at Ten’s stomach. He hears the throw get deflected, the dagger falling on the floor with empty wooden sound, and he grits his teeth as he retreats it, gripping the handle and circling his opponent. 

Something seems off. Ten is a silent force, but the person before him is something even more quiet and strong, so charged with power that it crackles on the tips of Jimin’s fingers. Xiaojun? Probably. All the boys feel different, but there’s something about Jun that rings with uniqueness and strength, his force compared to one of the power of love coursing through the bloodstreams of vengeful partners, two souls entwined in the passion of connection. He’s the one who reminds Jimin of Yoongi the most, the trainee taking the traits of his mentor and adapting them to his own style. 

He smirks and tilts his head, but decides not to comment on that. If Ten wants to take a break and put Jimin against someone else — he’ll take it. It’s still training. 

Another song starts meanwhile, and he waits for the beat to drop for dramatics’ sake before he makes a false move to the left to make his opponent confused, but it doesn’t work, because as soon as he gets to the right to hit him, there’s a hand near his shoulder, coming exactly from the direction Jimin wanted to lead it away from. He ducks away but doesn’t have time to regroup because Jun is suddenly behind him, yet he makes a mistake of underestimating Jimin’s distaste for losing.

The instinctual thing to do here would be to turn around and attack him face-to-face, but Jimin likes to be creative and decides not to trust his instincts — and so he falls to the floor, rolling on his side and hitting Xiaojun’s legs with his, causing the boy to fall down. There’s laughter from the side, and Jimin imagines his opponent offended face. He smirks. 

They both regroup fast, facing each other. It would be appropriate to say something to taunt him, but Jimin finds his lips locked as he listens to the movements of the air. 

He fucks up. He rides the high of that leg kicking and doesn’t notice the shift in time, so when he realizes Xiaojun is at his back again, it’s too late. He finds himself in a death grip as he grabs his forearm to try and free himself, and then it hits him. 

It’s not Xiaojun. 

The breath on the nape of his neck suggests someone taller than Jun, and even if it wasn’t for that and the feeling of electricity that goes through Jimin the second his fingers wrap around the naked forearm, it’s the smell that engulfs him as soon as he opens his mouth. 

He can’t help but smile, his cheeks hurting from how vast his happiness is, and he takes a step back to push into him with his body. There’s a soft chuckle, and he clicks his tongue at this bitch’s audacity as he softens his grip, his fingers stroking the lines of the tattoo he can feel with his fingertips. 

“Liar,” he whispers with a smile as he feels him inhale Jimin’s own smell, his presence warm and soothing against Jimin’s back. 

“You once said you liked surprises,” Yoongi murmurs against his skin, and Jimin feels a shiver go down his spine as he exhales, trying to keep his cool even though his only wish right now is to wrap himself around Yoongi and refuse to let go. 

They’re not supposed to be back yet, Yoongi told him himself just a few hours ago, but here he is, his body aligned to Jimin’s. He notes how Yoongi is freely using his left hand now when it’s wrapped around Jimin’s waist, his fingers digging into his ribs. He turns his head to the right where he feels Yoongi’s face is and brushes his lips against his cheek. 

“You’re still gonna pay,” he whispers with a smile. 

He doesn’t give Yoongi time to react, diving down from his grip and cutting his feet with his own, causing Yoongi to start falling. Now that Jimin knows who exactly he’s fighting against, he knows Yoongi won’t fall for this cheap move that easily, so he catches him by the waist midair and throws him on the mat, pinning him down with his body and smiling. 

There's are a huff and a chuckle from under him, and he pokes his tongue out as he breathes heavily. They’re pressed close together, and he already feels his body take strength from his own little battery. 

Yoongi strokes his face with his fingers and hooks the blindfold, taking it off. Jimin shakes his head to get the hair out of his eyes and blinks a few times to adjust to the light. 

“You fight dirty,” Yoongi says grumpily, but Jimin can see he’s fighting a smile that’s forcing itself out in the corners of his lips. 

“I have the best teacher,” Jimin hums with a smile. Yoongi looks much healthier than he was when they left, and it makes Jimin feel so happy it’s embarrassing. Having him close again is something indescribable. 

“You look awful,” Yoongi comments, his fingers touching the skin under his eyes that Jimin knows looks ashen and tired. He pouts, and Yoongi moves his hand to his lips. Jimin kisses his fingers with a shameless smile and winks. 

“Yeah, I missed you too,” he says sarcastically, to which Yoongi just rolls his eyes and stands up on his elbows, bringing their faces ever closer. Jimin feels his breath on his lips. “Sleeping is shit without you.”

He leans back to sit on Yoongi’s thighs and stand up, helping him up and tug him closer to hug him properly. He wraps his hands around Yoongi’s shoulders, but it’s still not enough, so when he feels a strong grip around his waist, he gets his legs up and hugs Yoongi with them, feeling like a baby koala on its favorite tree. 

“That’s better,” he hums, closing his eyes and putting his head against Yoongi’s. “You’ll have to carry me around like this forever for not telling me you’re coming back early.”

He feels the vibrato of Yoongi’s laughter in his chest. 

“We came back on time,” he says with a hum as he walks somewhere. “I just didn’t tell you said time to make you more happy to see me when it’s unexpected.”

Jimin snorts and hits his shoulder. Yoongi seems not to notice his weight as he carries him, and alright — that’s hot. 

Something dawns on him then, and he turns around to look for Taeyong only to find him attached to Ten so tightly it’s hard to tell where one of them ends and another begins. Jimin arches his eyebrow at them as he puts his feet on the floor and disentangles himself from Yoongi, immediately taking his hand to make up for the loss of contact. 

He goes to say something to the reunited couple, but Yoongi shakes his head, his face scrunched up in that adorable way that makes Jimin’s knees week as he leads him outside the training room. 

“I had to listen to three weeks worth of whining about them being apart,” he shares as the door closes behind them. “Let them be.”

“But I wanted Ten to tell you how much progress I’ve made,” Jimin whines and pouts, tugging at Yoongi’s hand to make him look at him. 

Yoongi sighs and steps closer, his palm going to wrap around Jimin’s neck, his body pressing him to the wall, and suddenly every thought Jimin might have had flies out of his mind, only the tremble of his fingers on Yoongi’s and the way Yoongi’s eyes darken mattering. He takes a shaky breath. 

“I’d rather catch up with you first,” Yoongi murmurs, and it’s fucking unfair — the way his voice is hoarse and deep in the dark hallway, and the way Jimin’s body missed him to a point it feels on fire from feeling him through the clothes, and the way his thoughts are now a mess simply because Yoongi’s lips are dangerously close to his own. 

“So you thought fighting me would be a nice way to do that?” Jimin asks breathlessly and swallows, his hands going to Yoongi’s hair. He outlines his ear with his fingers — his own weakness, those freakishly adorable ears of his, and watches how Yoongi’s eyelids flutter close, his smirk growing.

“It was a test. And you passed with flying colors.”

It’s charged and strong — the way they're standing, and he wanted to ask Yoongi a thousand questions when he got back, but now that he actually has the man before him, they’re all gone, leaving only dark desires in their wake. He swallows again, his mouth dry, and Yoongi is looking at him in the way that drains him of any power, leaving his bones hollow and weak and pliant, and he wants to ask Yoongi to do things to him that will surpass the heated dreams he’s been having about the two of them. 

Yoongi purses his lips as he looks over his face, and there’s a sigh that tells Jimin his desires are returned but far from being fulfilled. 

“You seriously need to sleep,” he declares, pushing away and leading them both to the elevator. “So let’s go and sleep.”

“Don’t you have to unpack? And talk to Jungkook?” Jimin asks, but it’s only a formality, because he agrees with everything Yoongi is saying, and he puts his chin on Yoongi’s shoulder as they ride up. 

“I already talked to Kook, we’ll have a meeting in the evening,” Yoongi explains, his thumb playing with Jimin’s pinky. Both of Jimin’s fists can fit inside his palm, and honestly, it’s embarrassing. “He knows we need to rest first. And well, imagine trying to pry Taeyong from Ten’s face in the nearest six hours.”

They both laugh, and Jimin bites his lip, an unspoken parallel hanging between them in the air because they both know that no matter how much they laugh about it — they would be the same if their relationship was on that level. 

It makes Jimin wonder, wonder and remember that evening on the balcony, and all the times he lied awake at night thinking about what it all means to him, the shit that he’s doing and participating in. He promised Yoongi to figure himself out, and he thinks he’s doing it, slowly but steadily finding himself in the lines of his old notebooks, in the smiles Ten sends his way when he does something right in the training room, in the witty remarks Jungkook makes when Jimin cracks one of his puzzles, in the encouraging words Hoseok keeps saying when they’re dancing, in the subtle dark jokes Yuto makes in class not looking his way, in the texts he keeps getting from the trainees, their friendship growing. Everything in his life connects to this side of the city, the dark canvas of the beautiful painting of his existence, his fate tying into the inhabitants of the Underworld. 

It’s not surprising anymore for him — the way he craved to be one of them, to the point where he was ready to risk his life to know more, because it’s simple, it really is. 

_”I’m losing my identity piece by piece, and all because I’m not enough.”_

_  
_

_“You should stop defining yourself through your relationships with other people. You’re not someone else’s something. You’re the person you build yourself to be. You’re son, friend, boyfriend second. First — you’re Jimin.”_

Those were the words Yoongi said to him when he was questioning everything about himself, and it stuck with him, and he thinks now — you were right and wrong at the same time. I’m Jimin, but the thing about me is that I have to belong to something to feel like myself. I’m enough for myself, but the flashbacks and memories I keep recovering tell me I need to be here.

Yoongi’s hand in his is warm, and he’s not afraid of his feelings. Not anymore. 

“It’s you,” he says softly as they come inside the room, and Yoongi turns to him with his brow furrowed. Jimin smiles and hugs his neck, their faces close. “I wanted to be with you. That’s why I came to the Underworld. It was all about you.”

Yoongi releases a shaky breath and chuckles, pressing their foreheads together and licking his lips.

“I know, baby,” he murmurs, and it takes Jimin’s breath away, and he closes his eyes. “But why?”

“I don't know yet,” Jimin whispers, pressing his lips to Yoongi’s cheek and lingering there, no longer scared. “But I know I chose it, and I’m making the same choice now. I will always make it, Yoongi. Because you’re my road to understanding myself.”

This time, he doesn’t have to do it himself — Yoongi hugs him tightly and lifts him in the air, and Jimin remembers that he used to hate him. It almost makes him laugh now, because how? How could he ever look at this man and believe that harm will come if he gets close? Who put that belief inside of him?

Yoongi carries him to the bed, and Jimin feels the exhaustion creep back inside his limbs, and he almost purrs as he realizes that he’ll finally get enough sleep now that Yoongi is here. 

Yoongi lowers him on the bed without letting go, his muscles strained from where he’s holding himself up above Jimin. His eyes are searching for something on Jimin’s face, and he hopes so desperately that he finds what he’s looking for before he realizes — he doesn’t know what it is, and it means it’s still not the _time_. 

He still wants to disregard Yoongi’s request and lean forward to press their lips together because it feels right, it will feel right, he knows it will. He’s infatuated, he admits it, and there’s something unsettling about it, but the eyes across from him are everything he wants to be looking at. 

“Who are you, Jimin?” Yoongi whispers, and this is it, this is his chance to give the answer they both seek. 

“Who do you think I am?” He asks breathlessly but realizes immediately it’s wrong. He knows it’s not the correct response even before he notices the barely-there frown on Yoongi’s face.

“It’s not what matters,” Yoongi murmurs sadly and closes his eyes tiredly, lowering his head to bump his forehead against Jimin’s chest. “It’s really not.”

Jimin sighs and purses his lips, burying his fingers in Yoongi’s hair, playing with it. It’s soft and nice, and he remembers the night he dyed it, finding distraction in Yoongi’s company after the magical turmoil of the day. 

“Let’s rest,” he offers before Yoongi can, and he feels something churning inside his guts, anxiety settling over his ribs because he, once again, fucked up. 

Yoongi looks up and stills for a second before smirking slightly and slowly pressing his mouth to Jimin’s neck, opening his lips and sucking on his skin briefly. Jimin’s eyes flutter close as he bites his lips to prevent any indecent sounds coming out. Gods, he hates this man. 

He can’t help it as he grips Yoongi’s shoulder in protest when the man pulls back with a self-satisfied smirk to walk away from the bed and into the other room to change for sleep. 

“You’re an asshole!” Jimin shouts at the cracked-open door, flipping him off as he hears laughter from the other side. 

He rubs his eyes and scoots higher on the bed, getting under the covers, his entire body still tingling from the not-kiss. What a fucking tease. 

He doesn’t even bother changing out of his training clothes as he closes his eyes, waiting for Yoongi to join him. He smiles when he feels the bed dip, and not a moment later there are hands around him, and he moves closer, hiding his face in the crook of Yoongi’s neck. 

“Fucking finally,” he breathes out, already feeling the content spreading through his body. “I swear, if I wake up and you’re gone, I’ll hunt you down.”

Yoongi laughs quietly, covering them both with the comforter and taking a deep breath, his fingers on the place on Jimin’s neck his lips were on just a minute ago. 

“It’s really bold of you to assume you’re the only one affected by us being apart.”

Jimin blinks, feeling so incredibly selfish that it burns in his lungs, and he looks up, catching the way Yoongi’s eyes follow his every movement. His eyelids are dark in the shadows of the dawn, but his eyes are still bright. 

“I used to have nightmares before you, you know,” Yoongi murmurs, but it’s not painful or resigned. It’s just a fact. “They’re not as bad as yours, but some of them drove me mad. But after the day I saw you, they just… Disappeared.”

Jimin bites his lips, finding Yoongi’s palm and playing with his fingers. His own dreams don’t disappear when he’s with Yoongi, but they’re more bearable, and sometimes there is even something good instead of a nightmare. 

“They started again last week,” Yoongi shares with his lips pursed. He sighs. “That’s how I knew it’s time to go back home.”

Jimin wants to kiss him. He really does, and it seems right, and they’re perfectly close for it, but he still hesitates. He’s not ready. Neither of them is. Just a little bit more. 

“How was the trip, anyway?” He asks in a weak voice, his eyelids heavy as he fights with drowsiness.

“We’ll talk later, sun,” Yoongi whispers, kissing his forehead. “You need to sleep. We’ll catch up after that, I promise.”

Jimin believes him. It’s not new but still warm and welcome — to trust him so completely, to a point he knows Yoongi will never lie to him and always see who he really is. He smiles as he nods and closes his eyes, letting the sleep finally take its claim. 

Surrounded by the warmth and smell of Yoongi’s existence, he succumbs into sleep, content and happy in the hands of the man he loves, no matter how scary that thought still is. The darkness takes his mind, but he isn’t afraid — he knows he will be protected, guarded, and safe. 

Jimin falls asleep to Yoongi’s fingers in his hair and a soft song on the edge of his consciousness. And it is right.

XI

Jimin breaks the hold and hides, and he knows they will find him sooner or later but he needs more time, he has to do this last thing before they take him, and if he’s not wrong, if he figured it all out correctly — he will survive to return to his Ares’ arms. 

His hand is flying over the paper, and the smart thing would be to call Taehyung and tell him as much as he can in so little time, but they took his phone, and he hears the voices in the hallway, and so he writes and writes, trying to put months worth of research and revelations into one simple note that will convince Yoongi to believe him. 

There is no way he can send it now, not with all those people in the house, not with... _Him_ getting closer with every step. He takes a shaky breath and curses his eyes for stinging as he pours his soul into the letter. He will hide it. Yes, he will. Somewhere they will not find but he can retrieve later if he survives. 

He will. They cannot destroy him as long as he thinks about Yoongi. He is a freaking Aphrodite, and they cannot destroy him as long as his heart belongs to the strongest of them all. 

He finally finishes the note and looks over it, his hands shaking. He wants to say so much more, but there’s no time. 

He slips out of the closet and into his room, listening to the voices on the first floor. His father cannot help him now, but Jimin can’t find it in himself to be mad at him. 

His files are strewn about in the room, his attempt at hiding as much as he can futile seeing as they will probably search the entire house. He hid the personal journals somewhere secure, tore them up and put into different places, and he’s smart — they’ll never find it. Nobody but he can. They should never underestimate him. 

The note. This one is the most important, and somehow he needs to find a hiding spot they will never look for. 

His eyes fly over the room, desperate for a stroke of genius, and he hears steps in the hallway, they’re coming, they will take him, and... His gaze freezes as he looks at the wall across from him. He smiles. Of course. You’ll figure it out, my love. 

It takes him a minute to do what he needs, and he faces the door, his fists clenched. Come and take me. I didn’t even lock it. 

It flies open, and he feels all the air leave his lungs, the pain hitting his forehead as the memories start flooding in, and he almost doubles over from the onslaught of feelings and nausea, but he cannot. 

_Stand tall, my love._

And so he does. The man across from him smirks crookedly, and Jimin breathes out with a stubborn set of his jaw. He was right about it all, then.

“It is destined,” he whispers, and — smiles. 

/

Jimin jerks up so hard he almost falls off the bed, but there are hands on his waist in an instant, holding him back. He breathes heavily, his hair soaked wet from the sweat, and he suddenly wants to cry. 

“Talk to me.”

Jimin can’t even look at him, let alone say something, so he turns around abruptly to bury his face in Yoongi’s chest and emit a dry sob. It’s terrifying — what he felt and saw. It’s all blurry, and he cannot for the life of him remember the face of the man he saw or where he hid that last note, or what was even in it, but his hands still shake from the adrenaline and fear, and he tries to breathe, but it’s too hard. 

Yoongi shushes into his hair and kisses his temple, his strong hands secure around Jimin, gentle but firm, telling him that he is free to leave them but as long as he is here — he will be safe. 

It takes him a long time to calm down. The bits and pieces of the dream keep appearing in his mind’s eye, and every time he feels a seizure go through his entire frame as if his body rejects even the idea of remembering. Jiyong told him to welcome the flashbacks, but it’s getting harder. He needs more strength if he wants to make it. 

“I can’t do it, Yoongi,” he whimpers suddenly, so fucking exhausted that it destroys even the slightest hope of going forward. “I’m too weak.”

Yoongi doesn’t say anything at first, but his grip tightens as he sighs into Jimin’s hair and swallows. 

“If you choose to back out now,” he starts slowly, and Jimin already feels like shit. “I will help you settle somewhere far from here. I don’t care what the others will think. We will figure everything out without you. And you can go back to the life you’ve always wanted, Jiminnie. I will never judge you.”

Jimin grits his teeth. It sounds so appealing. So normal — to be just a guy, a simple student whose biggest problem is an essay due the next day, not some huge cosmic threat that he feels with every fiber of his being. He would go to college, meet new people, graduate and become a therapist, and help other people find their ways in this messy chaos of life. He can make himself forget his own past, move on and never look back. He will lose everything, but he will gain a chance for something fresh and new. 

Only he already has that chance. He already belongs somewhere he feels right in. 

“I wouldn’t have you,” he whispers. “It’s pointless without you.”

His soul feels like an exposed wire, sparks flying around and everything being so much stronger, feeling so much rawer, and he looks up at Yoongi with a plea in his eyes. 

The words get stuck in his throat, and he chokes on them, tearing up. He cannot allow Yoongi to see him this distressed, no, he cannot know how weak he actually is. Pathetic. 

“You’re everything you need without me,” Yoongi murmurs with his eyes closed as if it’s hard for him to speak. “You just need to find it.”

He’s suddenly so angry, the injustice he feels consuming his every thought. 

“Fuck you,” Jimin blurts out, his throat burning as he sits up, hugging his shoulders. “You keep playing this game, Yoongi, as if I need to upgrade to the next level to have a right to be with you. To have a right to fucking kiss you.”

He knows it’s bullshit, but he hurts so much he feels the need to hurt Yoongi too, and it makes him hate himself, but he cannot stop, his skin itching and crawling from the amount of anger he feels at the world. 

“Jimin.”

He doesn’t want to look at him. He doesn’t want to face the man that has been nothing but kind to him but received this mess of a boy in return. 

“Jiminnie.”

His voice is Jimin’s lifeline, the thing he anchors himself on, but now he feels like suffocating. There’s a hand on his shoulder, but he jerks away as if he was burned, and he knows he’s just too emotional, but it hurts. 

“I want to be with you,” Yoongi says eventually with a sigh. Jimin closes his eyes tight. “Through everything. I don’t want you ever to regret me.”

He could never regret Yoongi, but he despises himself for not knowing what he needs. For floating in space like a speck of dust, aimless and alone. 

“And somewhere down the road,” Yoongi continues, too calm, too soothing. “In a few years when all of this is in the past, and you look back on this and remember the first time you kissed me... I want it to be a good memory. I do not want you to feel as if you guilt-tripped me into it.”

Jimin grips his arms, his fingers aching as he imagines it — their future together. Even the possibility of them having one. He bites his lips to stop himself from sobbing out loud. 

“I have never felt anything even remotely as strong as what I feel for you.” Yoongi sounds sad but sure of his words, and Jimin envies that stability so fucking much. “And I’m willing to go through every shit you throw at me because your defense mechanisms are acting up. At the end of the day, I know you’ll be okay because you’re too strong not to. And when it finally happens, I will be there for you to decide — if you want to stick with me, or leave me behind and start something new.”

He can’t take it. He can’t be near this man — so fucking good, so kind, so understanding. Some part of Jimin wishes Yoongi would scream and yell at him, but he knows it won’t happen. He stands up abruptly, his body shaking as he makes his way to the balcony, lifting the heavy curtain to the side and almost falling out onto the street when he opens the door. 

There’s a single old armchair and an ashtray, and he falls down tired, his fingers shaking as he picks up a cigarette pack lying on the floor. He only manages to light one on the third try, his throat constricting from the unshed tears.

He feels empty. As he looks at the evening city, illuminated by the clubs and bars, at the Blackpink shining a few blocks away, the people never sleeping but reveling in the seeming freedom, at the dark sky that feels like the only stable thing in this city — he feels empty.

Does he belong here? What does he even believe? He said he’s ready to find the truth, but every time he opens his eyes after another nightmare or daytime flashback, he feels like breaking apart. He was someone else a year ago, an arrogant kid that saw something here that drew him in. 

There was a... Feeling in this dream. He was chased after and cornered, but he still felt so sure of his own survival, so positive he will bounce back, so self-assured. It was like an invisible force held him up, whispering the incantations into his ear.

He heard the same voice that’s been haunting him all this time. Yoongi. Ares. All in his head, his own little Jiminnie Crickets, guiding him through the mess of everything that keeps popping out.

He wants to cry from the sudden urge to punch something, throw a table across the room to have an outlet for his anger, smash some glass to hear the sounds of destruction and feel it flowing in his blood. His heart feels on fire, angry and desperate, and he takes a deep drag, his fingers still shaking. Always shaking. How can he even hope to be someone here when his hands are constantly trembling?

Yoongi told him to figure himself out. Yoongi knows he’s not right, but he still believes in him, holds his hand through every fuckup and panic attack. 

Yoongi knows him. Yoongi gets him. Yoongi feels him. 

That’s why he’s still not here on the balcony — he knows Jimin needs his space. Jimin wishes he knew what to do with it. 

He closes his eyes, taking a deep breath.

Reality check. 

He’s in the Underworld. Ninth floor, outside Yoongi’s room. He likes it here. He likes training to fight with Ten, he likes playing chess and swimming with Jungkook, he likes having lunch with the trainees, he likes hanging out with Taeyong, he likes gaming with Wooseok and Jinho, he likes learning all those little card tricks from Johnny, he likes seeing Taehyung feel at home here, he likes feeling like he belongs here himself. It’s fucking terrifying — to admit that he does, but he can’t keep denying it. The Underworld has become his safe space, no matter how ironic this sounds. 

This is him. Present-day Park Jimin, looking at the city that belongs to the people he has come to call friends and feeling at peace. 

Feeling at peace. When he’s not plagued by the memories of the past Jimin, his life and actions erratic and destructive, the mess he started so great that it haunts him still. Are they the same person, only on different stages of character evolution? Or is he someone else, created from the ashes of the boy that was so consumed by his obsession that he had to burn down in order to survive?

It was so peaceful when he didn’t know. When he didn’t remember. He almost dwells on those fantasies before he thinks that there’s no point. 

Past cannot be reversed. It can only be built upon, its fragments used as bricks for the future, and Jimin fills his lungs with fresh air to try and etch this new truth inside his lungs. He must go forward. 

He knows what Taehyung would say if he was here now. You’re being selfish, Chim. Because it’s the truth, he is, he’s thinking only about himself after he said those words to Yoongi after the man confessed that their separation was affecting him too. Yoongi needs him just as much as he needs Yoongi, and the war is going on around him, these people fighting for their lives and truth, and he’s sitting here, consumed by thoughts of how his sorry ass is feeling shaky because he can’t handle the memories of himself longing to be a part of them. 

Jimin of the Underworld. It sounds powerful but still lacking something, and he knows what it is, but it still hurts to admit. He needs to move forward to learn how to accept the title without feeling like he’s trying on someone else’s skin. 

He hears the door slide open and bows his head, taking a drag. He feels ashamed and embarrassed. 

“I’m sorry,” he chokes out. 

“I told you,” Yoongi says gravely. “Never apologize to me.”

Yoongi stands by the railing, looking not at him but the city at their feet. His city. It belongs to him and his brothers, and he poured his blood, sweat, and tears into building it to be what it is. To be a place someone like Jimin can find shelter in. 

“When Changkyun said you’re invisible, I didn’t believe it at first.” Yoongi’s voice is still stable and calm, but Jimin feels power brimming under it. “Because you are the brightest person I have ever met. You're the only one I can see when we’re surrounded by people. I could probably pick you out from a crowd in darkness. You’re my focus, Jimin. My lighthouse.”

_There is always a lighthouse, there's always a man, there's always a city._

Jimin bites his lips and takes a hiccuping breath. He didn’t cry, but it feels like he did, his eyes burning and his throat raw as if he was screaming. 

“And you’re you,” Yoongi continues. Jimin looks up briefly to see him gripping the railing, his knuckles white and scraped. “I know I fucked up when it all started, calling you that name and confusing you. But the thing is that I was mistaken to think you belong here because you’re Aphrodite. No, Jimin. You are Aphrodite _because_ you belong here. You always have. You’re beautiful and fierce, powerful and so... So fucking stubborn.” Yoongi chuckles and wipes at his lips, his fingers steady in contrast with Jimin’s shaking ones. “And whether you choose to stay and accept the title, or leave and forever forget it and everything that goes with it — I will welcome that choice and support you.”

Jimin puts out the cigarette and stands up, coming closer to him and wrapping his hands around Yoongi’s waist, his chin going to his shoulder. He breathes in and feels better. Calmer. 

Yoongi’s palms cover his own, their hands holding onto each other. 

“Ares needs his Aphrodite, always,” he murmurs, and Jimin closes his eyes. “But I don’t. I only need the boy I love to feel like himself again.”

Jimin freezes, his mind jolting to a halt. 

It’s like the world stops, everything jumping to stasis, the stars dimming their fire to look down and make sure they heard it right. Jimin doesn’t know if he can even breathe, his heart beating so loudly he feels the pulse on his neck. 

Yoongi turns around in his hands, his fingers going to Jimin’s neck to stroke the lines of his veins. 

“I love you, Jimin,” he says quietly, and it sounds like the most beautiful universal truth.

Jimin stares at him, his body going into an emotional lockdown, everything suddenly seeming so far away, as if it’s happening to someone else, and then — it all crashes into him with a force so great he feels the tears finally fall from his eyes, his lips trembling as he tries to say something. 

“Oh,” Yoongi breathes out with a chuckle and wipes at his cheek, careful and gentle. “Don’t act so surprised, sun. I told you once already. I’m forever yours. Forever the prisoner of your soul, your kindness, your wit, your beauty.”

It is like something finally slides into place in a broken mechanism. Jimin feels something shift inside of him, that overpowering helplessness dissipating, as if Yoongi’s confession was the fuel he needed to keep himself running. 

“I—” It won’t come, none of the words he wants to express will come, and he feels so full of something bright and beautiful, and it wants to break out of him and shower Yoongi with its light, its warmth, its love.

“You don’t have to say anything,” Yoongi hums, his hands still caressing Jimin’s face. “I know it already. I just need you to find it now.”

He feels so loved. So overpoweringly, breathtakingly loved. It doesn’t feel like anything he’s ever experienced from his father or his friendship with Taehyung. It is something different, unique, flaming inside his soul, singing and filling him with the strength that is his own yet at the same time — Yoongi’s.

“You know,” he whispers with a broken sob, and Yoongi smiles crookedly, just like Jimin likes, and nods, hugging him close and letting him bury his face in Yoongi’s neck. 

“I know.”

And it is right. 

It is destined.

XI

Irene finds her on the floor of the break room, her mug of coffee clutched in her hands so hard they’re shaking. She knows it’s better to leave Seulgi alone sometimes, but this is crossing all the limits. 

She’s been like this for weeks, ever since the attack on the Underworld proved to be a spectacular failure. Their only win is the weapons, but it is nothing compared to the fact that Yeri was captured and is still stuck in the confines of that cursed place.

They’re all despondent and depressed because it was never supposed to go like this. They were supposed to execute their perfect plan and reap the benefits, yet here they are — soldier, and not just anyone but Seulgi’s own little sister, taken, the criminals still thriving, no enemies taken down. The man Joy shot — the Ares — is still alive if their intel is correct. And it is because their people are the best, and if they’re saying Ares was the one who took out half of their junior unit three weeks ago, then so it is. The injury didn’t slow him down like it did Irene. She’s still recovering from the shot he took through the door. Her ribs are almost healed, but it still burns if she breathes in too deeply. 

Wendy is going mad, too. Yeri’s capture took its toll on her, and she’s haunting the halls of the precinct or locks herself in her office to grind and research. She can’t do much more — Seulgi forbade her from even leaving the grounds, the danger of losing another one of their youngest just like they did Yeri too great for her to even fathom. She’s always treated Wendy like another sister, and even the thought of letting her out is terrifying for her. 

Joy is somewhere out in the field, barreling through the hoards of people Hades keeps sending. She checks in constantly, but it’s been a week since Irene saw her personally. Whenever they talk, Joy sounds on the brink of passing out, and it’s maddening, but that girl was always too stubborn to give up. Seulgi hasn’t told her a word that wasn’t an order since Joy failed to kill Ares, as if it is her own fault the fucker is resilient, and Joy, not used to Seulgi’s mood swings, chooses to stay away from the precinct for now on the off chance she runs into their disgruntled boss. 

Their entire unit is in shambles, and all because their leader could not accept the failure of one mission. 

Irene sighs and drops the files she brought before Seulgi, startling her. She jerks away and blinks, and then looks up at Irene as if she didn’t even notice someone came in. 

“We lost another three,” Irene reports, her lips pursed. “And that’s with Ares out of town. Also, the guy we sent to the lawyer Choi Hansol is missing. I’m guessing we won’t be hearing from him anymore.”

Seulgi takes a deep breath through her nose as she flips through the papers, her coffee forgotten near her on the floor. She’s pale, Irene notices, and they haven’t talked properly for days. It hurts.

“Well.” Seulgi sniffs and pinches the bridge of her nose. “At least now we know for sure hes on their side.”

“We already did,” Irene points out, her hands crossed on her chest. It’s weird to be looking down on Seulgi, seeing her so empty and devoid of any emotion. It feels like she doesn’t even care she looks weak, and one thing Kang Seulgi isn’t is weak. “What was the point of sending a man on a death mission?”

“That’s what we do nowadays, don’t we?” Seulgi says absentmindedly as she stands up and stretches her neck. Irene wants to punch her. “Send people on death missions, into the jaws of the beast.”

She enunciates dramatically, as if she’s rehearsing a monologue for a play, not talking about the lives of people they’re supposed to protect. 

Irene grits her teeth. 

“Are you giving up?” She breathes out, confused and angry. “On the mission of your life? The one you dragged everyone you know in?”

Seulgi finally looks her in the eyes, her own tired, the fire in them dimmed but not gone. 

“No.” Simple and curt. She shrugs slightly. “I’m just coming to grips with the fact that I have severely underestimated Taeyongie’s master.”

Irene pokes the inside of her cheek with her tongue to refrain from commenting. Seulgi hates her ex, she’s stated it dozens of times, but sometimes, when she talks about him, it sounds almost nostalgic. 

Seulgi motions for Irene to follow her, and they leave the break room, heading for the main office.

It’s a mess inside. Seulgi threw a tantrum when she found out Yeri was taken, and nobody has cleaned up here since. The cleaning staff isn’t allowed into their wing, and Irene is definitely not getting rid of all the papers thrown around, a flower pot cracked on the floor near the window, the pins from the board stuck in the wall.

Seulgi flinches as she looks on the floor but ignores it, carefully stepping around the mess and making her way to their board. She finds the Janus note and rips the “THE FAVOR” post-it to crumple it in her hand. 

“That’s useless now,” she murmurs, throwing it in the trash. “Can’t believe I released that shit for the wrong intel.”

Irene tilts her head, studying the board to try and see something that will allow them a breakthrough, a win, at least something to write in the green ink. They keep losing people but taking no corpses home.

“It’s strange, though, isn’t it?” She muses, her finger on her lips. Seulgi turns to her with her eyebrow arched. “Yeri managed to get the weapons out. The guys said all the passwords worked. She was right behind them, and she had plenty of time to get out before she got caught.”

Seulgi sighs heavily. 

“There’s something in those grounds,” she whispers, her gaze far away. “Something not natural. It rejected her. I have a theory...”

She trails off, not finishing her thought, and Irene frowns, impatient. Seulgi isn’t the most communicative person, but she’s always shared everything she was planning. They run like this — on mutual trust and no secrets between them. That’s what Irene liked about her when they first met — Seulgi doesn’t take any bullshit and always knows what she wants and who she wants to achieve it with. It’s been years, but the past few weeks mark the first time they’re out of sync.

“Everything has changed so much,” Seulgi says suddenly, and Irene notices how she’s looking out the window, her mind lost in the buildings and dirty streets. “I was trying to do this in a way I would six years ago. But it won’t work anymore. Cronus would crumble under my heel, but Hades... Oh no.”

She turns around suddenly, her eyes finally burning with the same passion Irene knows, and she’s smiling for the first time in weeks. It’s cruel and mad and horrifying to a point, but it’s alive. 

For the first time in weeks, Irene finally recognizes her friend, and she stands taller, ready for any scheme Seulgi will throw at her. She can take it. 

“It’s time to do something really unexpected, darling.” Seulgi smiles wider, and Irene mirrors it. 

She can definitely work with unexpected.

XI

Another flashback hits the next day as Johnny drives Jimin from college to Hypnos. Yoongi is supposed to meet them there because Jiyong called him an hour ago and asked to come by. 

They drive past a street lamp, and he looks at it absentmindedly before his head explodes with images and memories. 

Dark night, but the streetlights are enough to walk, and he’s clutching those precious vials in his hands, and he needs to get home before someone sees him, and there’s suddenly a man almost crashing into him, and...

“Jimin?” Johnny says worriedly, and Jimin turns to him, his vision blurry. “Are you okay?”

Jimin takes a breath through his teeth, his throat dry. It disappeared as fast as it came, but he can swear he saw Yoongi. Standing there under that lamp, smirking at him and offering to walk him home. 

Was it before he started investigating? Was it their first meeting? What was he doing around here? This is Olympus territory, and if his notes are to be trusted, he only started on them on the second month, and he remembers the chill on the nape of his neck as he worried for the vials not to fall out. 

The vials. 

“Yeah, I’m— I’m good,” he whispers.

Johnny is obviously not convinced, but he just purses his lips and parks the car. 

As soon as Jimin opens the door and looks up at the shop, another wave of memories floods his brain, and he sees himself entering those doors for months every few weeks, and seeing people he didn’t know then but recognizes now — Taeyong, Mark, even Jinho, and they’re all racing through his mind in a supercut of faces and pictures. It’s such an overwhelming stream that he doubles over, gripping the door, his stomach turning and his throat constricting. He barely ate anything today, so nothing comes out, but he heaves, desperate to do anything to make nausea pass. 

He hears the door to the shop get thrown open, and he knows instantly it’s Yoongi, so he doesn’t reject the hands that grip his shoulders. 

“What is it?” Yoongi asks sternly, and Jimin holds on to his arms, grounding himself on Yoongi’s stable presence.

He looks up to try and answer, but the person behind Yoongi grabs his attention, and he grits his teeth, another set of flashbacks assaulting his brain. 

_”How is your father, Jimin?” Jiyong wonders as he puts the vials in the sack. His hair is damp from the steam that’s coming out of the pot Jimin can see in the back room._

__

“He’s calmer,” Jimin says with a shy smile. “That new potion certainly helped. Thank you.”

__

Jiyong ties up the bag and looks up as he hands it to Jimin, putting the money away. He’s smiling kindly. 

__

“I’m glad it did, my friend,” he hums, and Jimin notes for the hundredth time how sad his eyes are. “I hope he will keep getting better.”

__

Jimin nods and turns away, going for the door, but Jiyong calls out his name.

__

“You can ask something for yourself, too, you know?” He offers, and Jimin frowns, confused. “If you ever need something. Free of charge. I like you, kid.”

__

_Jimin feels perplexed, blinking, but he nods nevertheless, sending a wave and a smile Jiyong’s way before leaving._

The same sad eyes are looking at him now from behind Yoongi, and Jimin stands up, a mixture of anger and nostalgia filling up his veins. There is another man next to Jiyong, frowning, and Jimin doesn’t know his name, but he knows _him_. Tall, intimidating guy that always keeps close to Jiyong whenever he’s near, his eyes following Hypnos with the warmth that Jimin always envied. He doesn’t anymore. He sees it in Yoongi now. 

“I am sorry, my friend,” Jiyong says gravely. He knows Jimin remembers him now. 

“What’s going on?” Yoongi asks, looking between them, his jaw set. 

Jimin swallows, waiting for nausea to pass entirely and using the time to get his thoughts together. He presses closer to Yoongi and takes a deep breath. 

“I knew Jimin in the past.” It’s Jiyong, his voice even as he unloads the unbelievable truth behind the way Jimin could feel Jiyong in the Hecate shop. 

It’s all clearer in his mind now — his numerous trips to this place, every time coming in for a new dose for his father and coming out full of hope and desire to never have to visit this part of the city again. Look at how that one turned out.

Yoongi is motionless beside him. Jimin keeps staring at Jiyong, lost at what to feel. Why do people keep lying to him? Every time he thinks he’s found his footing, someone snatches the carpet right from under his feet.

“We better come inside,” the man beside Jiyong says, looking around as if he’s expecting someone to jump out from around a corner and attack him. 

Jimin finally manages to turn his head and look at Yoongi. His profile is stone-like, his eyes drilling into Jiyong. 

“Johnny, go back to the Hotel,” Yoongi orders and moves forward without waiting for a response, leading Jimin inside. 

The lights are dimmed inside, cool air coming in from the open windows, and Jimin feels his head spinning when he recognizes the shop, the memories of the time he spent here mixing with his not-first impression. It’s a big space with a lot of tables, every one of them full of pots and vials. If Hecate is neat and magical, this place looks more like a laboratory. The shelves cover all the walls, peculiar ingredients displayed with little notes indicating what is what. It smells strongly of poppies.

Yoongi helps him sit down on a tall stool near the window, and Jimin nods gratefully, prying his hands away from Yoongi’s arm. He feels better now. 

“Explain yourself,” Yoongi says curtly as he turns to Jiyong. 

Jiyong’s frowning, his hands wrapped around himself as he searches for words. The other man is standing near him, his eyes never leaving Jiyong’s face.

“Jimin used to pick up the potions for his father,” Jiyong starts. “He heard about me from someone at college and came to me asking for help. I studied his case and cooked up a few things to help ease the man’s pain.”

“How kind of you,” Yoongi seethes, poison dripping from every word as he clenches his fists in anger. 

“Yoongi,” the man says warningly, but Jiyong shakes his head, turning it slightly in his direction. 

“It’s ok, Seunghyun,” he assures him, and the name makes Jimin’s head pang with pain. Of course. Jiyong sighs. “When Jimin stopped coming, I assumed the need for my help seized to exist.”

Jimin tries to fact-check in with his memories, and there’s a hazy recollection of him picking up the last supply the night he… First met Yoongi? He blinks, trying to see through the fog in his mind, and it’s hard, but eventually, he pinpoints it — Yoongi’s face in the dark, his crooked smile as he leads Jimin out to the civilian part of the city. 

After that, his father left for the sanatorium, and he dove into research that led him to the people he’s with now, so it makes sense he didn’t visit Jiyong anymore. 

Which is still strange, because he has a file on Hypnos, full of information that he studied just a few days ago, and he doubts the things written there are something Jiyong told him over tea when they were acquaintances. 

“When Jungwoo told me about the boy he helped save from the curse, I knew it was Jimin,” Jiyong continues, his eyes hooded. “I didn’t say that I know him because I didn’t want to trigger his mind until we know what’s inside of it.”

Yoongi breathes heavily, his anger red around him. Jimin reaches out to puts his hand on Yoongi’s shoulder, and it helps to calm him down a bit, painting his aura with splashes of lilac. Yoongi closes his eyes and licks his lips. 

“Is that all?” He asks, and Jimin frowns, wondering at what more Jiyong can possibly say that will be as shocking.

Jiyong hesitates, his eyes downcast as he chews on his lips. Yoongi takes a step closer, and Jimin sees Seunghyun’s energy explode with silver blue. An urge to protect. 

“No,” Jiyong finally says when he feels the tension between two men. He swallows and looks at Jimin. “But I would like to talk with Jimin in private about it.”

There’s tense silence as Jimin drills him with his gaze. 

There is also — a feeling. Something in his veins, some serene calmness. His anxiety has been acting up a lot lately, but after the talk he had with Yoongi a few days ago — the one that still makes Jimin’s skin tingle whenever he remembers the confession — started the process of something finally getting fixed in his soul. He’s surer of his words and actions, and with every step he takes, there’s more confidence in him that the Underworld is where he belongs. Something he needs to belong to. He’s not someone who came here and got tied up by friendships and feelings. He’s someone who always had a place in his soul for those. 

And that is why he stands up and walks over to Jiyong. There comes the point when he needs to stop relying on Yoongi and his reputation and start making his own. And this point is now. 

“Alright,” he says firmly, standing taller as he measures Seunghyun with his eyes. He won’t be intimidated by the mountain of muscles, no matter how much something inside of him wants to. He looks back at Jiyong. “But I’m saying this beforehand — I will disclose whatever you say to me to Yoongi if I choose so.”

Jiyong smirks and nods, his lips pressed together. He’s amused but not surprised. 

“Makes sense,” he agrees and gestures to the back for Jimin to follow him. 

Jimin smiles briefly at Yoongi, who looks dissatisfied but resigned. He knows better than to try and prevent Jimin from doing whatever he wants. He’s learning, Jimin muses as he comes after Jiyong into a small room in the back. 

The door closes between them and the shop, and Jimin looks around, noticing how much more personal this one looks. He sees another door near one of the shelves cracked open, and he figures it’s something of a private study for Jiyong. He tears his eyes away from it as not to pry. 

Jiyong offers him to sit down, but Jimin chooses to stand, propping himself on a table, his arms crossed on his chest as he watches Jiyong. There’s something soothing in the way the man moves, his presence calculated but unintrusive. Hypnos. Jimin trusts him for some reason. 

“You didn’t stop coming when your father went away,” Jiyong says, cutting straight to the chase. Jimin appreciates it. He arches his eyebrow. 

“I figured as much,” he hums. “I came to you for help?”

“Not exactly.” Jiyong sniffs and sits down, his elbows on his knees. He looks tired but not in the way that suggests he had a sleepless night. No. It feels as if he’s been tired for a long, long time. “You came by around August. Showed me the file you gathered on me and said that you have the same ones on the majority of the gangs.”

Jimin frowns, blinking rapidly. What?

“Why would I do that?” He wonders in disbelief. “You’re a part of Olympus, and I was more taken with the Underworld. And it was too big of a risk to reveal myself to you.”

Jiyong sighs. There’s something he’s still holding back, something big. 

“Jimin, this city is a maze,” he says quietly, not looking up. “And there’s a Minotaur hiding in its confines. Nobody can ever find him, and whoever crosses his path on accident always regrets it. But you… You are the only one who found him on purpose, and you are the only one who got away alive.”

Jimin feels dread spread over his limbs, his skin crawling. 

“How do you know that?” He asks breathlessly, his lips trembling. 

“Oh, old friend…” Jiyong looks up at him, and there is a sense of nostalgia coming over Jimin, longing for the times that were never supposed to come. “I know a lot of things. I have memory of things beyond the simple comprehension of an average local citizen. And you figured it out. You _figured it all out_ , and you came to me to ask if you were right.”

Jimin sees something through the flames in his imagination — the darkness and the light, screams and tears and laughter, and amidst all of it — himself, his body dressed in a beautiful gown of sea-foam color, his face upturned to Hypnos, asking for oblivion. It hurts to look at it, but it’s calling out to him, and so he watches on, welcoming it and letting it consume his mind. 

Something is hiding in his mind, and it is the same thing that is hiding in the stones of this city’s roads, the same thing that burned down so many years ago, leaving nothing but ashes and forgotten dreams in its wake. 

He feels his eyes get teary and wipes at them, taking a deep breath as he fights through the dizziness of another flashback and focuses back on reality, where Jiyong is looking at him with hope in his eyes. 

“Who is this Minotaur?” He asks shakily and clears his throat. 

Jiyong’s face scrunches up as if he’s in pain, and he breathes in through his teeth. 

“I cannot tell you,” he grits out.

At first, Jimin feels anger. How dare he do this? Stay cryptic when Jimin needs his answers so much? He almost demands it out of him when he sees something in the twilight blue of Jiyong’s aura — golden shackles, the same ones he saw on him in Hecate shop, a promise he once gave sealing his lips. He truly _cannot_ say. Oh. 

Jimin kneels before him, taking his palms in his and looking into his eyes with as much kindness as he can. 

“Then help me figure it out again, old friend.” The title comes naturally, as if it is the one that occurred after years of deep friendship, and Jimin chooses not to question it. “I need to know who I am.”

Jiyong smiles sadly, his fingers caressing Jimin’s forehead for a brief moment before he takes a vial from the nearest shelf. It’s glowing purple, a single poppy flower floating inside. Jimin feels his breath hitch. 

The poppy. The similar to the one Jungwoo pulled out of Jimin’s throat what seems like a century ago. Jimin’s hands shake as he takes the vial. 

“It was you?” He whispers, his heart breaking, but his mind denying it still because it could not have been Hypnos who was after him, not in a million years. He is sure of it. 

“I only prepared the ingredients,” Jiyong whispers, guilt painting his presence in grey. “The spell was cast by someone else. But I swear, Jimin, I never thought they would use it in this… Shit.”

He gasps as he clutches his head as if something hit it, and Jimin frowns, looking over him worriedly. 

“I didn’t come up with it all to hurt you specifically,” Jiyong eventually says, his forehead sweaty from the effort of speaking the words. It is like something is blocking him from speaking, and Jimin knows perfectly well how it feels. “I didn’t even know it still existed. Jungwoo recognized my flower and came to me, and he believed me when I told him… Fuck!”

His face is extremely pale now as he rubs circles into his temples. 

“Don’t talk about it if you can’t,” Jimin says gravely even though he wants to hear it. Something is hurting Jiyong to keep him silent, and he cannot just sit here and watch him suffer. 

“I need to,” Jiyong breathes out. “Jungwoo is a strong witch, he is Hecate, so he saw it without me having to tell him. When you don't know who to trust, always go to Jungwoo, you hear me?”

It’s mighty bold of him — to assume that Jimin trusts him and his words, but he does, and there’s nothing he can do about it. Something in his soul is loyal to Hypnos. 

“Alright,” Jimin agrees weakly. 

Jiyong takes his hand and wraps his fingers around the vial, his eyes red as he looks intently at Jimin. 

“This is a counterspell,” he says with a stubborn hint to his pursed lips. “Jungwoo and I cooked it. It will help you remember what you have been deprived of, but not everything. There are things that you were never supposed to learn, Jimin, and once they were erased from your memory, they cannot reappear there until you figure them out again.”

Jimin listens intently, catching every word and putting them on little shelves in his mind. 

“You are strong, darling,” Jiyong says, smiling warmer now. “And you will figure it out, I know you will. If you can’t do it, nobody can. There is a spell on me that won’t let me help you any more than this, but I have made mistakes that need fixing, and I put my faith in you.”

Jimin swallows, moved and anxious but ready to fight if he needs to. Every second that he spends with Jiyong fills him with more confidence and clarity. 

“I will try my best to learn who I am,” he promises heatedly. 

“Oh, but old friend,” Jiyong breathes out, putting his palm on Jimin’s heart. “You already know it. You just need to…”

“Accept it,” Jimin says gravely and swallows. “The title.”

“Not just the title.” Jiyong shakes his head as he squints his eyes. “The powers, too.”

Jimin stands up and walks away to the table, his fingers tight around the potion. They’ve been shaking since he came to the Underworld, and the only time they feel steady is when something freaky is happening around him. 

“You’ve been using them for so long that you didn’t even notice they exist,” Jiyong says from behind him. “Empathic. Is that what they call you?”

Jimin nods without turning around, his head full of memories of those times he knew what people feel and how they will act if spurred to action by their emotions, and how he feels sure when he’s talking about someone else’s love but loses his speech when he thinks about his own feelings for Yoongi, and how he’s started actually seeing people’s emotions all around them since Tony’s potion left his system. 

He turns around to look at Jiyong, his heart beating wildly. 

“I always was exactly what I needed myself to be,” he says, not sure if he’s stating or asking. Jiyong smiles at him and walks over to take his hands in his again. 

He brushes his fingers over the scrapes on Jimin’s knuckles. The ones he sustained when he was training in hand-to-hand combat with Ten. It felt good. It felt natural. 

“You don't need to find yourself, darling,” Jiyong whispers, and Jimin believes him. “Because you are exactly what you are destined to be.”

It’s such a simple sentence, poetic and grotesque, but it carries meaning that makes Jimin’s breath hitch and his lips part in wonder. 

“And I believe that one day I will look at you and see that I was right,” Jiyong whispers, his hands on Jimin’s shoulders. “The Aphrodite was born under the fire of the Underworld.”

Jimin closes his eyes and lets it flow in his veins. The power. The knowledge. The acceptance. 

He opens his eyes and smiles at Jiyong. 

“It seems that he truly was.”

XI

Seungcheol knows Jeonghan is back before the man even enters the office.

He exchanges a look with Mingyu, both of them contemplating making a run for it as they listen to Jeonghan's yelling. 

“Quick, pout, it always works on him,” he whispers, not too keen on meeting Jeonghan’s temper alone. 

“Nah.” Mingyu ups the volume in his headphones and gets back to his screen. “You married him. This one’s on you.”

Seungcheol throws a paperclip at him and turns to the door, ready to welcome Jeonghan and Vernon home. They storm in a few seconds later, Hansol’s annoyed face a prominent feature in the dimly-lit room. They’re in the main office, but everyone else is already in their rooms or working from personal spaces, only the leader and Mingyu staying here to wipe a few more tapes from Yoongi’s last-night outing. 

Hansol looks pissed, but not as half as Jeonghan does, the vein on his forehead standing out. Seungcheol fears that vein. Sometimes, he feels like it’s watching him. In any case, its appearance always means trouble.

“Welcome home!” Seungcheol says weakly in a futile attempt to diffuse the situation before it blows up, but nobody is listening to him. He sees Mingyu smirk. 

“Alarm buttons are there for a fucking reason, Hansol!” Jeonghan shouts, his face red from worry. 

Seungcheol comes over to him and hugs him from behind, the desire to help him calm down as strong as the one to prevent him from attacking someone. Jeonghan is a literal angel, he truly is, but wherever he’s worried about someone — it’s on sight.

“I knew Seungkwan was watching,” Hansol says with the air of exasperation, and Seungcheol guesses it’s not the first time he uses this argument. “And I can take care of myself, in any case.”

“It’s still not safe nowadays, Vern,” Seungcheol says softly and meets Hansol’s petty look. “And you know it. You need to be on alert more than the others since you’re always in plain sight.”

Hansol purses his lips and jerks his head but stays silent. Jeonghan puts his hands on Seungcheol’s, finding comfort in the contact, and Seungcheol feels proud of himself. Keeping his boys in peace is fucking hard, but he thinks he’s managing. 

“Whatever,” Hansol breathes out and throws his bag on the couch.

Seungcheol senses that Jeonghan wants to continue with the argument, but he shushes and turns him around to leave a soft kiss on his cheek. 

“Let it go,” he whispers before getting back to his computer, the work still unfinished. 

The tension is still there, but Vernon is talking to Mingyu now, and so Jeonghan chooses to get busy too and plumps in his seat to start working. 

It goes on for a few minutes, and Seungcheol feels bored as he methodically clears out all the records of Ares and his people being anywhere near the places of recent cop killings. He glances at the third monitor where Jimin’s apartment surveillance activates from someone moving, but it’s just the guy himself with Yoongi in tow. Seungcheol watches as they enter the apartment, the corridor camera still rolling, and after a few seconds, they appear on the balcony. Seungcheol gets back to the first screen, giving them privacy. Gods know he witnessed some things happening on that balcony he wishes he didn’t see, but at least it’s nice to know Yoongi isn’t… lonely. Jeonghan was beginning to worry. 

“Damn.” It’s his husband himself, his voice surprised but excited. Seungcheol pushes away from his desk to roll away and to Jeonghan. “I accidentally hacked into Olympus again.”

Mingyu and Vernon perk up at that and roll closer too, hungry for new gossip. Olympus is a bitch to crack, and they sometimes hold competitions for who can do that, and even if they succeed, Seokjin gets the defenses back up in minutes. 

“Quick, see if you can find that Moirae tape again,” Vernon asks, excited and giggling. “I’m dying to know what Minho did to Taemin that one time he told him his hair looks like a wig. Seungkwan almost downloaded it last time, but didn’t finish.”

Jeonghan starts typing rapidly, and Seungcheol snorts at how excited they all look. Their job is literally snooping on this entire city, yet they never get tired of using other people as a substitute for daytime TV. 

He watches the screen and analyzes the code to try and pinpoint the defense walls Seokjin keeps putting up. He knows they’re not supposed to be hacking into them even on accident, because Olympus isn’t something they’re technically allowed to watch, but who the fuck set those rules, anyway. It’s dangerous because angry Seokjin is a bitch to handle, but what’s the fun in following everyone’s requests?

He’s too caught up in studying the coding on the second screen to notice when a video feed appears on Jeonghan’s primary monitor. 

“Holy fuck,” Mingyu breathes out near his ear, and Seungcheol snaps his head to the right and looks at the screen. 

At first, he’s speechless, because he isn’t sure what he’s looking at. 

“That’s…” Vernon blinks in confusion and shock. “Definitely not the one you were looking for.”

“It was… just there.” Jeonghan is frowning as he automatically runs a program to record the thing before it disappears in the firewalls again. “I don’t know how I stumbled on it.”

“When was it?” Mingyu wonders, squinting at the grainy feed. 

Jeonghan clicks a few buttons and frowns. 

“Nine years ago,” he states and bites his lip. “Why isn’t it erased, though?”

Nobody responds, and they watch the events on the tape unravel, the sound from the speakers echoing in the empty office. Seungcheol rubs his shoulder, trying to figure out beforehand what he’s going to do with this information. Holy fucking shit. That’s a secret deserving of playing in the big boys league. 

The recording ends, and just a few seconds later they witness how someone cuts Jeonghan off, Olympus’ firewalls going back up as someone on that side notices the breach. 

They sit in silence for a few minutes, processing what they just saw. Seungcheol and Jeonghan look at each other, and he’s pretty sure they’re thinking the same thing. They need to protect the family. There’s no point in trying to involve someone else. It’s old news, and it doesn’t play any role in the events of the present. 

“Nobody says anything about this,” Seungcheol orders eventually, rubbing his lips. Vernon and Mingyu look grim but understanding. Good. “We don’t need more trouble than we already have on our hands. This info won’t help anyone, anyway.”

The guys nod silently, and Seungcheol looks back at the screen, where the recording Jeonghan made is playing on loop. He sighs and rubs his eyes. Like he didn’t have enough headache to carry around. 

“I mean,” Hansol hums, his lips pouting in thought. “At least now we know how the big boss really kicked the bucket.”

Mingyu snorts in dark irony, and Jeonghan rubs Seungcheol’s thigh. Yeah. It seems that now they know for sure. 

XI

Jimin wraps his fingers tighter around the little vial, drilling the poppy inside with his gaze.

He should drink it now. Yoongi said it’s his choice but didn’t he want to know?

Jimin does want to know. He wants to remember everything he learned, everything he felt, everything he saw. Jiyong said that some memories will still remain undiscovered, but if he figured this grand thing out once, he can do it again.

He didn’t tell Yoongi about the Minotaur. It sounded like something Jimin has to tackle on his own, and he’s planning on doing just that. There’s no need to involve the others into something that is a secret between him and the city. Besides, it got him once, it can get him again — and he’d prefer to protect the people he loves if he can.

He swallows and wraps the cover tighter around him. It’s getting colder as the evening progresses, but he welcomes the chill. It helps soothe and sort out his thoughts.

Yoongi is inside the apartment, making sandwiches, and Jimin bites his lips, thinking about him in Jimin’s kitchen, all domestic and soft, cutting off the crusts because Jimin likes it that way. It feels warm and nice — to imagine Yoongi, surrounded by familiar and lovely things and being a part of Jimin’s everyday routine. He wants it.

He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, relaxing his entire body to find peace and answers, for he finally knows he is ready to face them.

The not-oblivion comes easy. In just a few moments, the sounds of the quiet street disappear, and he is consumed by the welcoming darkness of his mind.

It’s warm here, warm and pleasant, as if he is head deep in the summer sea, and he opens his eyes to see that he is, in fact, swimming in something light-blue and beautiful. It’s easy to see as he looks up and at the sky somewhere out there, and so he pushes himself up, breaking the surface and taking a breath. As soon as the air fills his lungs, the ocean disappears, and he looks around him to see a dimly-lit room. He blinks a few times and realizes he’s in his old room back in his father’s house, but it doesn’t feel like it did before — grim and depressing. No, it’s warm and light here now.

It looks almost the same, save for the emptiness, all the furniture removed to create a vast space alight with soft illumination. There are pictures on the walls, and he looks over every one of them, smiling at the memories frozen forever on the photographs.

There’s Taehyung and him, their smiles wide as they sit at the fountain near uni. He remembers this day — it was their first class, and they were ecstatic to finally have more freedom. There are a lot of pictures of them around the room, Taehyung being a part of his life a memory so great that he’s painted in every stroke of Jimin’s soul, and he touches every one of them, a soft smile on his lips.

Then, there are the Underworlders. Ten in the training room, his smile wide as Jimin performs the kick right. Taeyong standing outside the Hotel, his face open as the first night they talked. Jungkook in the pool, his cheeky smile showing that he just won at chess again. Johnny and his confused face as Jimin nails his card trick on the first try. Yangyang’s happy small smile when Jimin helped him shop for makeup because he was too shy to go alone, and in the next picture — Xiaojun and Hendery gushing over him to make sure he knows how pretty he looks with eyeshadow, and there’s nothing “girly” about it, and that they’ll punch anyone who tries to give him shit for expressing himself. So many pictures — all of them of people Jimin has come to know and like, and as he stands in the middle of the room, he looks at all of them and feels… Happy.

There’s one he didn’t look at yet. It’s near the window, tucked safely away beside a beautiful pot of roses, and he slowly walks over to it, the warmth filling up his heart with every step. He touches it with his fingertips, biting his lip.

It’s not simply a memory. This one is actually a picture he still has on his phone, and the one he looks at almost every day. It’s Yoongi, his hair freshly dyed blue, his pose relaxed on the couch as he throws a peace sign at the camera and winks. Jimin finds himself giggling as he remembers that night.

He sighs with a smile as he turns around to look at the room again.

So this is it? His moment of clarity?

He figured it’d feel more grotesque, but as he looks around him once again, he realizes something, and with that realization, he touches his necklace and opens his eyes to end up back in the real world.

The sounds of the air around filter back in as he takes a deep breath, feeling utter content in his bones. He smiles and looks at the poppy again.

Every cell of his body, every fiber of his being, every little thread of his soul is calm and serene. He looks around at the nearby buildings, watching as colorful fogs emerge from every window, the emotions people feel without even noticing visible in the air, calling out to him and asking to read them.

When he watches long enough, he can see the red strings fly all around, connecting people through places and times, and as he looks down on his own chest, he sees the most beautiful glowing thread. The one leading inside the apartment. He smiles.

Yoongi is chewing on a tomato and humming something to himself when Jimin walks back inside. He’s dancing a little as he waits for the kettle to boil, and Jimin props his hip on the kitchen counter, watching him without trying to hide his fondness. Yoongi notices it and freezes, his mouth still full as he stares at Jimin like a deer in the headlights.

“What?” It’s muffled, Yoongi blinking in confusion and chewing carefully.

“I need to tell you something,” Jimin says softly, biting his lip.

He shows Yoongi the vial and puts in on the counter with a soft clinking sound. Yoongi stares at it, his brow furrowed, something hidden deep inside his eyes. He swallows and comes closer.

“So you’re still hesitating,” he hums.

“No.” Jimin comes closer and takes his hands. “I’ll drink it. But after I’ve said what I want to say to you.”

Yoongi looks worried but intrigued, and so Jimin takes a deep breath and nods to himself. Alright. Here goes.

“I need to ask you beforehand not to interrupt me, because I’m kinda winging it, and if I get off-track, I won’t be able to come back to it.”

Yoongi makes a zipping motion near his lips, his face taking on an innocent puppy expression, and Jimin honestly wants to kiss him and never stop.

All in due time.

“The reason I want to say it first and only then drink the potion is that I’m not sure what I’ll be after I do it,” he starts. He’s still calm, but the anxious claws are starting to chip away at his lungs. But he won’t be scared. Not anymore. “The Jimin who met you last spring was someone who made a lot of mistakes, and I will fix them, but not before I fix the one I’ve made recently.”

Yoongi is looking at him worried, his eyes squinted slightly.

“When I first saw you — and I mean at the Hotel, not that night I barely remember — I didn’t feel anything. It seemed almost artificial — how nothing changed when I first looked at your bloodied face.” He can still remember that nothingness inside, and he sees on Yoongi’s face that he remembers it too. It hurts.

“It took me an hour to feel this burning fire of hatred whenever I saw you. I couldn’t control it, and now I know why — because of that spell, but back then it confused the hell out of me. I don’t really care that you’re criminals, so it wasn’t the reason, and that’s probably worrying, but in light of what I’m about to say — not so much.

“Whenever I thought about you outside the Hotel, I felt... curious. Intrigued. Drawn to knowing you. When we first talked in this kitchen — it was the point of countdown for me.”

Yoongi smiles slightly, the memory of the amusing mess of the situation bright and clear. Yoongi put a knife to his throat then, and the fact that Jimin didn’t even flinch should have already been an indicator of something he is admitting now.

And then came the phonecalls. The texts, and the stories of their days, and all those times Yoongi made him smile with a simple message and Jimin refused to analyze what it means. All those times it appeared right before his eyes but he was too scared to look at it.

He touches the watch on Yoongi’s wrist, the one that started going when Yoongi saw him, and sees how it steadily ticks away, and with every movement of the second's hand, Jimin sees the red thread connecting them pulsate in response. It’s tied to the necklace on his end, and the watch — on Yoongi’s, wrapped around the triangle behind the glass. He chuckles. So obvious.

“With every tick of this clock, I was becoming more and more what I am now,” he whispers, looking up at Yoongi. “I was getting to know you. It’s so weird, you know? I met all these people who have their own opinions about you, and they all contradicted to how I saw you, and only later did I realize why.”

He softly touches a bruise on Yoongi’s cheekbone, and Yoongi catches his fingers to put them to his lips and leave a soft kiss on his knuckles. Jimin feels so devastatingly loved it makes breathing hard, but he pushes through. He needs to say it.

“I saw something so familiar and raw in you that I learned to feel you better than myself. Because you opened yourself up to me from the angle barely anyone ever saw. You let me see something that you never showed anyone because there was simply no need.” He swallows, the point of no return coming closer with every word.

“Days passed, and my confusion and annoyance turned to another kind of fire. The one that attracted me, and I flew at it like a fucking moth to a flame, but you know what, Yoongi?” He feels his eyes sting, but this time it isn’t because he’s weak, oh no. These are happy tears.

“I’m not afraid to get burned. Because we burn the same,” he whispers and comes closer to put their foreheads together and close his eyes. Yoongi puts his hands on Jimin’s waist, and he never wants to run away. Not anymore.

“We are the same.” A soft whisper of their own little secret. “I may not be as strong as you yet, or as skilled, or as wired for this life, but when I tell you... I have never felt more alive than when I’m with you.” He takes Yoongi’s hand and puts it over his heart. It’s beating steadily, and he feels so alive, and so brave. “All of you. I hate change, and I don’t adjust to it well, so I thought that I don’t fit in here, that it’s not for me, that I’m not right. But the truth is — I belong here more than anywhere else.”

He opens his eyes and looks at Yoongi, and there is something new in the air between them, more than a confession shared, stronger than the darkness that he fights every night, more powerful than his anxiety.

“You asked me to figure myself out. To tell you who I think I am. I thought it matters what you think about me, but at the end of the day — it doesn’t. It doesn’t matter what you think I am, or Taehyung, or Ten, or Jungkook, or anyone I know. It only matters who I feel I am.” He squeezes Yoongi’s fingers and presses them closer to his chest to make him _feel_. He’s not afraid.

“And I finally know it, Yoongi. I am Jimin. Jimin who likes to dance as much as he likes to fight. Jimin who feels at home surrounded by gang members as much as he does at home with a psychology book. Jimin who saw something dangerous and decided to crash that party and join it. I’m Jimin who wants to be part of the Underworld gang. Because I feel content and at home there, and not because I followed my best friend.”

This is it. This is the second he does it, the second he tells the truth. It’s brimming on the edges of his energy, and he knows it will be welcomed and embraced and protected in Yoongi’s hands.

He takes a breath and smiles.

“And not even because I fell in love with one of the Underworlders.”

Yoongi freezes, his eyes fixed on a point on Jimin’s chin, his face stone. Jimin wonders if he’s even breathing. He hooks Yoongi’s chin with his fingers and makes him look up, and there is a fire raging in Yoongi’s eyes, the one Jimin wants to be consumed by, and so he smiles, welcoming its flames.

“I should have told you this a few days ago, but I wasn’t ready then, and now... Well yeah.” He touches their foreheads again and feels Yoongi’s hands on his shoulders.

“I love you too, Yoongi.”

It sounds like a spell, an incantation breathed under one’s breath, and it wraps them in its magic, the power it brings filling them both with out-of-this-world strength.

Yoongi is motionless, his skin warm where Jimin is caressing his neck, and he’s smiling, waiting for Yoongi’s mind to catch up. He knows it’s a lot — everything he just unloaded, but he knows Yoongi can handle it, and if anyone can accept the mess that is Jimin and actually love it so unconditionally, it’s Min Yoongi.

“So this is nice,” Yoongi finally murmurs, and it’s definitely not what Jimin was expecting, but he laughs briefly.

“I just poured my soul out to you, and all you have to say is ‘nice’?” Jimin jokes because he feels too happy to restrict his bratty instincts, and he fake-pouts. “I’m hurt and offended, Min, how could you ever...”

Suddenly, he’s moving, and before he knows it, Yoongi is pressing him to the wall, and his lips are so close it’s breathtaking, and he holds Jimin’s face as if it is the most precious thing he’s ever seen.

“Fucking brat,” Yoongi growls, his fingers on Jimin’s chin, his breath on his lips, and Jimin swallows, the fire heating up in his stomach. So his body is into this, huh. He’s not surprised.

“You wouldn’t have me any other way,” he purrs, and it’s tacky and overdone, but it earns him Yoongi pressing his body closer, so he doesn’t complain.

“My Jiminnie,” Yoongi whispers, suddenly so gentle, and it carries so many emotions, so many feelings that explode and ambush Jimin, and he welcomes them and offers them a place in his own heart.

“Yours,” Jimin whispers back with a breathless laugh, and Yoongi is everything he feels with his entire body, and it’s the best feeling in the world.

He’d think this would happen some other way. He’s been wanting this for quite some time now, and he almost imagined it happening on accident, spontaneously, yet this is so much better — to have Yoongi look at him with that look in his eyes that tells Jimin exactly what he wants to do, and put his palm over Yoongi’s neck to pull him closer and have their lips meet halfway.

Kissing Yoongi feels like watching the night sky, alight with billions of stars as they shine to help him see his path, and he follows it into the arms of the man he loves.

Yoongi makes a soft sound as their lips move, and Jimin can’t help but smile into the kiss as he presses himself into Yoongi, craving to feel him closer, touch him more, hold him like nobody has even had the right to before. He’s heating up by the second, some peculiar possessiveness waking up inside and making him squeeze Yoongi’s neck tighter, move his lips with more urgency, and before he can help it, he’s biting Yoongi’s lip, and Yoongi hisses but doesn’t stop, making a strained sound as Jimin licks it over.

It doesn’t feel like enough. He tugs Yoongi closer, desperate to feel pressed and trapped between the wall and Yoongi’s body, and Jimin feels fucking blessed when Yoongi gets it and pushes him into the wall, their bodies touching even more as he deepens the kiss, and Jimin feels on fire as he whines for more.

Yoongi pulls away and chuckles, and Jimin is about to whine louder when he fixes his mistake and presses his lips to Jimin’s chin in a soft kiss, and then more, and Jimin buries his hand in Yoongi’s hair as he moves to his neck, his eyes fluttering close as he feels Yoongi suck on his skin, and it’s a thousand times better than that time in the Hotel, because this time he knows there will come more, and this time he knows what they are and what they want.

His hands sneak under Yoongi’s shirt, and he feels like he won something as he hears Yoongi’s response to his hands on his back, his nails digging into his skin and leaving the marks he’ll be definitely kissing later. His skin is hot under his fingertips, and it makes him even more turned on, and the pressure in his jeans is getting fucking unbearable.

“Please, Yoongi,” he whines, unable to articulate more, but somehow Yoongi gets it if his smirk that Jimin literally _feels_ on his skin is of any indication.

“Yes, darling?” He says hoarsely into Jimin’s ear, and Jimin contemplates using that paralyzing technique Ten has taught him because this damned voice makes his entire body tremble, and it’s not fucking fair. “Do you want something?”

This little fucker. Jimin digs his nails into his back and smirks when he hears him hiss.

“What?” Yoongi looks into his eyes, and if it weren’t for his blown pupils and his hard dick pushing into Jimin’s hip, you wouldn’t be able to tell he’s as aroused as Jimin is. “Cat got your tongue?”

He looks like a cat himself, pleased and happy, and Jimin licks his swollen lips, annoyed and so fucking in love. He leans forward and kisses him again, his tongue meeting Yoongi’s, and it’s wet and messy, and Yoongi’s hands are under his shirt, and he gets tired of this — so he pushes away and gets Yoongi’s shirt off in one motion, throwing it somewhere on the couch.

He knows Yoongi is ripped. He’s seen his body a few times, albeit in passing, and he learned to admit his attraction to his majesty mister Min Hotness a long time ago, but when he’s here before him, fully and completely Jimin’s to touch, it fills him with something primary and dark.

“Like what you see?” Yoongi says but flinches right after, and Jimin can’t help but snort as he presses his forehead into Yoongi’s shoulder.

“Why are you so fucking lame,” he whines with a giggle, but it quickly turns into a moan as Yoongi lowers his hands to grip Jimin’s hips and press their bodies close.

“You still love me, though,” he whispers, and Jimin wonders if it will ever stop feeling this raw. He knows he’s confessed like five minutes ago, but hell. It’s like someone is throwing an EDM party down in his stomach.

“I do,” he giggles self-satisfied as Yoongi snorts and kisses him, his hands cupping Jimin’s ass and pressing their hips close. He curses against Jimin’s lips, and yeah, that will definitely help him with being turned on like a teenager with a first crush. Gods, this man is turning him into a mess.

“You know where my bedroom is, right?” He breathes out, and witnesses probably the most anticlimactic sight anyone in this city has ever seen — Yoongi smiles so wide his gums show, his eyes disappearing as he giggles, and honestly, Jimin didn’t think he could ever be more endeared than the first time he saw Yoongi’s puffy morning face, but here it is — spreading warmth in his chest.

“Putting out on a first date?” Yoongi hums when he’s calmed down, and that damn cocky smirk is back on his face, and Jimin is seriously losing his patience. “How ungracious.”

Jimin bites his lip and slaps his ass, just because.

“We didn’t even have a date, you unbecoming seductor,” he grunts, and Yoongi laughs again, so open and bright that Jimin can’t help but smile.

“So should I go put my shirt back on and take you out?” Yoongi wiggles his eyebrows, and Jimin growls at him, gripping his back.

“No, Min Yoongi,” he whispers dangerously. “You’re going to take me to that fucking bedroom and finally prove to me that my imagination and wet dreams are shit compared to the real thing.”

He knows Yoongi wants to ask and make fun of him by the way his lips stretch out in a smile, but he doesn’t let him get distracted again. He circles Yoongi’s neck with his arms to grip his shoulders and gets himself up, supported by Yoongi’s hands on his lower back, to wrap his legs around Yoongi’s waist.

It takes Yoongi around twenty seconds and two more lame jokes to throw him on the bed and crouch over him, his hands trapping Jimin as he leaves more kisses on his neck, but honestly, like Jimin ever wants to leave his embrace.

Caught in the moment of them finally kissing, Jimin failed to pay attention to the world around him, and it is understandable, but now he notices that the warmth he feels on his skin isn’t just Yoongi’s lips and hands, but also Yoongi’s emotions. They’re red and bright like he always is, but he sees splashes and streaks of purple — Jimin’s one color, intertwining and mixing, and it’s so beautiful he feels mesmerized. They touch and warm him, embracing and protecting, and as their owner undresses Jimin, he welcomes them with a smile and a touch of his fingers on Yoongi’s lips.

Yoongi catches his gaze and holds it as he unzips Jimin’s jeans, the sight of his hands on the naked skin of Jimin’s stomach a torturous curse. He feels like he’s suffocating as Yoongi lowers himself to tug the jeans down, and Jimin suddenly feels too exposed — and not because he’s fully naked before Yoongi, but because the scar on his ribs is white on his flushed skin, and he doesn’t know why he’s so shy all of a sudden, but Yoongi doesn’t question it.

He puts his lips on the scar, kissing it with all the softness Jimin’s ever seen in him, and then he moves further, leaving marks with his teeth, his hands caressing Jimin’s thighs, his fingers brushing over his cock as if he’s doing it on purpose, making Jimin lose his mind with impatience.

He gets up suddenly, his face close to Jimin’s as he kisses him on the cheek, his lips warm.

“You’re the most beautiful person I have ever seen,” he whispers, and Jimin whimpers, shivers going down and up his spine. “Every little part of you is perfect.”

“Please,” Jimin whines, putting his knees up so that Yoongi ends up between them, trapped and wanted. “The bedside drawer, _Yoongi._ ”

There’s another smirk, and some petty, dark side of Jimin wants to punch him, but the other one — the one in control of the power running through his veins and firing up his senses — wants to feel Yoongi inside, so desperately that it doesn’t care how needy Jimin sounds when he whines into Yoongi’s mouth.

He knows he asked for it, but he still pouts when Yoongi gets up to undress. The sight, though, makes it worth the wait, because Jimin finds that he was right — the grapevines tattoo does go to Yoongi’s crotch, ending on his thigh, and he feels his mouth water as he traces the lines of Yoongi’s naked body. Yeah, he lucked out.

He swallows and licks his lips.

“Remind me, why didn’t I jump you months ago?” He asks ironically as Yoongi retrieves what he needs from the drawer.

He gets back on the bed, his lips immediately going to Jimin’s, his skin hot against his, and Jimin feels it tingle as the friction sends waves of pleasure down his spine. He moans, fingernails digging into Yoongi’s back.

“Because you’re a dumbass,” Yoongi murmurs between kisses. “And I wouldn’t respond as well if I wasn’t so in love with you.”

His hands are wandering all over Jimin’s body, and he loses himself in the complete bliss of Yoongi being exactly what he needs and guessing every little movement of Jimin’s body, making sure everything is going the way he feels right with, and it’s not fucking fair — how good he is for Jimin, and how it is a thousand times better than anything he could ever imagine.

Some part of him wonders if this is too fast, but it shuts up the second he feels Yoongi’s fingers inside him, and it doesn’t even matter that they went from confessing their feelings to sleeping together in a matter of minutes — because it’s Yoongi. With him, everything is out of order and mixed up, and it’s how they work, and Jimin revels in the feeling of belonging to the man who makes lame jokes as he stretches Jimin, and the laughter that he kisses away is the most genuine in Jimin’s life.

He’s so fucking lame, this almighty powerful Min Yoongi, the warrior everyone is terrified of, but they’ll never see him like this — his face focused on making sure Jimin is okay, the corners of his lips turned up in a smitten smile, his mouth unleashing some rant about the capitalistic impact on condoms price to distract Jimin from the tightness of the first push, and his eyes are so full of love that it doesn’t feel real.

Only it is. It is real. To Jimin, and to the creature woven out of light and love inside his mind, the one that gains strength with every move of Yoongi’s hips and every breathless moan that leaves Jimin’s lips.

It explodes in his bloodstream, and it is as if this was his last test, the last riddle of his fucked up mind, the last frontier he had to pass before arriving before the truth, the last step — being with Yoongi, on all levels, both emotional and physical, and as they lose each other in lust and passion, Jimin feels the overbearing presence at the back of his mind, the hooded figure so bright he couldn’t look at it, step away and dissipate in his blood, finding shelter in his soul and blending with it, becoming a part of it rather than its host, and it’s good.

Yoongi whispers sweet nothings into his ear as he moves, and Jimin slowly loses any touch with reality because it feels too good, too fucking nice, and it has never been like this before. He grips the sheets to keep himself from screaming, but Yoongi intertwines their fingers and asks him to be loud for him, and so Jimin obeys, because everything that Yoongi asks is something he needs to do, and he curses at him for being so right for him, and Yoongi laughs into his neck, and Jimin feels like passing out.

“My Jiminnie,” Yoongi whispers into his ear again as he thrusts into him, and Jimin’s pretty sure he hears something fall down and break in the room, and some part of him knows it’s his doing, but he’s more focused on feeling like he’s flying from pleasure.

“Yours,” Jimin whimpers, surprised that he can still talk, because his body feels so hot and tight as if he is a metal string that’s about to snap, and he whines, asking Yoongi to help him, and it earns him a bite on the shoulder that feels too good to regret, and it only takes Yoongi one more push for Jimin to come, his muscles flexing as he rides the high, and he closes his eyes, letting out a breathless moan as Yoongi speeds up.

Somehow, he feels exactly when Yoongi’s — not body but — soul gives up completely, its essence calling out for Jimin’s, the unknown power connecting them through the time and realms, and something happens just as Yoongi comes — there is a surge, a wave of electricity coming through Jimin’s body, but it’s not his own orgasm, it’s something else, something mythical and magical, brought into this world by force, and it suffocates him, constricts his throat so much he feels like he’s choking, but before he can try and figure out what it was, the darkness takes him.

It happens for a mere moment, it seems, but when he opens his eyes, he’s lying on his side, Yoongi’s face impossibly close to his, their lips inches away from each other. He feels that Yoongi wiped his stomach and threw a blanket over him, and his body feels so relaxed it’s almost scary how he doesn’t think he can move even a muscle.

He reaches out to touch the tattoo on Yoongi’s heaving chest, his fingers outlining the ink, and he sees something terrifying.

His fingertips leave traces on Yoongi’s skin, deep purple marks that look like paint he’s rubbing into his body, and it dissolves into it, sinking under and going into Yoongi’s blood, and Jimin feels like he’s suffocating again, because he’s hurting his Yoongi, he’s poisoning him, he’s putting something into him that isn’t supposed to exist.

He sees Yoongi’s lips move but doesn’t hear the sounds, and he wants to cry again because it’s wrong somehow, it isn’t supposed to be like this, he’s supposed to be happy and in love, but he only feels overpowering terror as he snatches his hands away, afraid of hurting Yoongi more.

Yet the paint isn’t going anywhere — he sees it spreading over his fingers and palms, covering his hands and moving to his elbows, and he thinks he’s saying something, but he can’t hear anything. Suddenly, the color isn’t just on his skin anymore — it’s around him, little splashes of electricity flying around him, the purple sparks between his fingertips so bright he doesn’t understand how Yoongi doesn’t see them.

He sees Yoongi’s hands move toward him and he wants to stop him but it’s too late, and he closes his eyes, terrified at what will happen when Yoongi touches him — but it’s suddenly quiet, and he can breathe again.

“Jiminnie?” A soft whisper near his ear.

He opens his eyes and sees Yoongi’s face, his eyes calm and soft, his breathing even as he holds Jimin’s hands, his lips reminding Jimin to breathe.

In this moment, Jimin finds a single answer. He figured it out already, but it seems to have become even stronger as he felt Yoongi’s body on his, their bond becoming not only emotional but physical.

He sees it as his fingertips touch Yoongi’s lips.

I love you, he wants to say again.

He cannot utter a single sound, because every letter drips with something too strong for him to handle, and he watches as the sparks appear again, jumping onto Yoongi’s lips, and he snatches his hand back, jerking away from Yoongi and on the edge of the bed, so afraid of hurting him that he doesn’t care how painful it feels to be separated from him.

I love you, screams everything in his soul and body.

The power is waking up and consuming everything it sees, burning the cells of his body to turn them into something else, and he sits up, looking around him and seeing how it alights the air. He doesn’t know how to control it, and it burns, burns in that warm way of candlelight under a palm — only it’s warm at the beginning, and it will eventually burn and leave a mark, and he cannot allow Yoongi to be the one standing over the flame.

“Leave, Yoongi.”

He doesn’t recognize his voice, because it’s too hoarse and broken, and it’s saying the words he hates, but he knows it’s not safe, he knows he cannot be near him when he’s this unstable, when there is something dancing on his skin and waiting to hunt, hurt, curse.

“Please, Yoongi,” he pleads when he sees Yoongi open his mouth, and he looks away, tears clouding his vision, because it hurts the most — seeing the pain and confusion on Yoongi’s face and not even being able to explain why he’s sending him away, but the purple is spreading over the bed, reaching for Yoongi’s body, and he cannot allow it to take him, _no, please, no, take me, consume me, but don’t touch him, please, not him, never him._

He buries his face in his hands as he pleads whatever is inside of him to let Yoongi walk away, desperate to hold it inside until Yoongi is safe, because he doesn’t care what happens to him — the only thing that matters is Yoongi, his Yoongi, being alive and far away from the poison that Jimin is.

There’s a cracking sound of electricity, and he feels how he’s slowly losing any sense of reality as the purple consumes him, and soon, there is nothing but darkness around him and before his eyes, and he lets the tears flow as he succumbs into unconscious, his only thought being — please let Yoongi be safe.

And as something in his mind takes its first breath and raises its head, awoken from its slumber, it sees the mistake it has done, and it weeps along with Jimin for the lover that has left them once again.

///

Hoseok is a not an easily triggered man. He grew up in the family of the main psychopath on the block and managed to remain happy and optimistic through every piece of shit his father has put him and his brothers through, and he always took pride in being the sunshine of the family. He’s terrifying, of course, because you don’t get born into criminal heritage without learning how to lead and control people, and he can be worse than both his brothers combined, but usually, he chooses to keep to his positive outlook on life.

He may seem too emotional to some people, his moods having too many swings a day, but only the people who truly know him are aware of his true nature. Hoseok doesn’t do hysterical, and he doesn’t do gullible, and he doesn’t do emotional. He’s rational and tactical, and his emotions are always in check.

He’s witnessed a lot of truly scary shit in his life. Bloody things. Mad things. Heartbreaking things. He went through a gang war, and he’s currently in another one, and he pulls his weight, and he’s controlling a third of one of the most crime-ridden city, so yeah, he’s seen his fair share of dark shit.

But when he opens his door around midnight, his mind groggy from sleep and ready to tell whoever is at the door to either be in deep trouble or fuck off, Hoseok realizes that nothing in his life full of crime and blood prepared him for the horrifying and deafening sight that is Min Yoongi crying.

He stares at Yoongi, speechless and honestly scared. They’ve known each other for almost eighteen years now, and he’s seen Yoongi with his bones broken and sticking out of his skin, his body beaten into a mush, his face unrecognizable, but not once did Yoongi shed even a tear.

But now his body is healthy and healed, and he looks like he always does, with only one exception — his face is broken and red from tears that keep streaming down his face, and he covers his mouth with his hand to hold in his sobs. The tiny sound that leaves him is what makes Hoseok unfreeze and reach out, and then Yoongi breaks down completely, his knees giving it. He sinks to the floor, but Hobi doesn’t let him fall down, kneeling beside him and wrapping his hands around him securely.

Yoongi presses his face into Hobi’s chest, and he feels his heart break a thousand times over, his mind helpless as it tries to figure out what to do, what to say. He doesn’t know what happened, but it doesn’t matter much now. What matters is his best friend breaking in his arms, and so he holds him tighter, his lips on Yoongi’s forehead.

“I’ve got you, brother,” he whispers and closes his eyes.

Yoongi keeps crying. 

XI

Jungkook doesn’t even try to hide his fondness as he watches Taehyung play with the little puppy on the floor, the dog excited to have someone who lets it lick their face and neck as it squeals loudly, Taehyung’s laughter deep and happy. 

Yeah. The dog was definitely a good idea. He almost drove everyone mad while he was trying to figure out what to get Taehyung as the engagement gift. The wedding planning is still on hold because of the war and constant changes to their plans, but he still wanted to cheer Tae up somehow. He’s happy here, but the exam preparation process isn’t the easiest one, and it’s definitely taking its toll on him. The puppy seems like a good enough distraction. There’s plenty of people to take care of it when Tae is busy, anyway, but the dog seems to be so taken with his new owner that it’s doubtful he’s going to want to leave his side anytime soon. Jungkook can relate. 

“My little Cerberus, aren’t you?” Taehyung coos, and the pup yaps at him.

“Cerberus?” Jungkook wonders as he crouches down next to them, careful not to wrinkle his suit. 

“Makes sense, don’t you think?” Taehyung looks up with a wide smile, and it seems that Jungkook can’t be more in love with him than he already is but that smile will probably always take his breath away. 

“He’s too tiny for that name,” he muses, watching as the puppy rolls over and demands tummy scratches. Taehyung happily obliges, his eyes shining with happiness. “And lacks two more heads.”

“Kookie doesn’t mean that, little baby,” Taehyung coos, and Jungkook suddenly sees a futile future of sharing his fiancé with the dog before him. Abort mission. 

“Okay, then.” He sighs, tilting his head as he watches the wiggling tail. “Let’s say it’s his nickname. Like all of us have.”

Taehyung looks up at him, his eyes wide with excitement. 

“Amazing idea, actually,” he breathes out and smirks. “Good job.” 

“Shut up, I’m smart.” Jungkook pouts and frowns, but Tae just snorts and touches his chin in a fleeting caressing motion. He often does it, and Jungkook won’t ever admit it, but his bones go weak every time. 

“You know I’m just teasing, love,” Tae placates him as he looks down at the puppy again. “Alright, then he’s Yeontan in regular life, and Cerberus when he joins our brothers in battle.”

Jungkook arches his eyebrow, doubtful as he tries to imagine this tiny puppy among the people as they fight for their life, but he doesn’t get to point that out. 

All the lights suddenly go out with a popping sound, complete darkness consuming them in a second. Jungkook instinctively reaches for his gun and puts the safety off, his free hand going to touch Taehyung’s shoulder. 

“Holy shit, look at the city,” Tae says, and Jungkook turns around to look out the window.

The entire city is completely blacked out. There is literally no lights for as far as he can see, and it’s so freaking quiet that he feels his skin crawling. There’s not a single sound, the cracking of electricity disappearing along with the light. 

“What the hell?”

Hundreds of scenarios run through his mind, and he thinks about the new security system that they’re supposed to finish next week. Is it the Red Velvet again? Are they under attack? Yoongi is at Jimin’s, and he’s not supposed to be back until tomorrow, so he reaches for his phone to dial his head of security, but once again, he doesn’t get to do it. 

Just as suddenly as they disappeared, all the lights come back on, flickering for a while before resuming the work as if nothing ever happened. Jungkook blinks, his fingers still gripping Tae’s shoulder. 

The door flies open, and Taeyong runs inside with Ten in tow, Ten’s gun on the ready. Yoongi would be proud of him. Taeyong is on his phone, and he stops for a moment to make sure they’re okay before resuming his call. 

Ten comes over to him, his face hesitant. 

“Don’t put the gun away just yet,” Kook instructs, his own grip on the weapon as firm as it was, and Ten nods, closing the door and positioning himself before it and the others. 

They’re looking at each other grimly as Taeyong keeps talking, his responses curt and quiet. Jungkook checks his phone, the reports coming in at rapid speed, and it takes him a few minutes to check everything while Ten and Taehyung talk quietly. 

Finally, after what must be ten minutes, Taeyong hangs up and turns to them, his face grim, but Jungkook knows him well, so he notices there’s no bad news. 

“The hell was that?” He asks nevertheless, trusting Taeyong to already have all the answers, just like he always does. 

“Power outage throughout the entire city,” he reports, rubbing his forehead. “Everybody is confused as fuck, but I checked with Aether, and there wasn’t any breach anywhere. Minghao is looking into it, but he says that it seems like there was a power surge somewhere close to their headquarters, and the wave just knocked everything out. Everything is back up and running again as of now.”

Jungkook swallows, still not convinced completely, but willing himself to calm down. He has enough to worry about already. 

“Are we secure?” He asks, the protection of the Hotel and its inhabitants his priority. “Was there any movement from the cops?”

Taeyong shakes his head. 

“No. For all I know, they’re as confused as we are.” He bites his lip and unlocks his phone again. “But I’m gonna check with Jackson anyway.”

Jungkook nods and turns to Taehyung, who’s standing with Yeontan in his arms, as calm as ever. Honestly, he’s going to make such a good leader to walk alongside Jungkook. He cannot fucking wait.

He’s about to ask Tae to come up to their room when Taeyong’s phone rings before he can dial Jackson, and he picks up with a confused face. 

They’re all looking at him as he listens to someone on the other end, his face getting darker by the second until he barks a simple ‘yes’ and hangs up. He’s staring at the floor, his gaze hard, and Jungkook patiently waits until he finishes calculating whatever he does. 

Finally, he sighs deeply and looks up. 

“Something happened between Yoongi and Jimin.”

That’s definitely not what Jungkook was expecting. He blinks and looks at Taehyung, who’s already getting out his phone, Yeontan nibbling on his shirt. 

“It was Minhyuk,” Taeyong explains, his lips pursed as he swallows with a frown. Something is definitely bothering him. “He said Yoongi just left the apartment, told him to call me and ask me to send some guards, and to come up and watch the door until they arrive. He didn’t explain what happened, but Minhyuk says he looked really… Rattled.”

He looks at Jungkook, and he knows they’re both thinking the same thing. Yoongi doesn’t do rattled. Yoongi also wouldn’t leave Jimin alone over a petty argument. Something really big went down. He takes a deep breath and rubs his eyes. 

“Ten, send whoever you deem fit,” he says tiredly as he tries to figure out if it’s a good idea to try and talk to Yoongi, or it’s better to give him some space. 

Ten nods seriously, his phone already out. 

“I’ll send the devil twins,” he murmurs as he types away rapidly. 

“I’ll go, too,” Taehyung says, frowning at his phone. “Jimin isn’t picking up or reading my texts, and I can’t just sit here not knowing if he’s okay.”

Jungkook purses his lips. He’d prefer Taehyung in the safety of the Hotel, but he knows damn well that it’s impossible to sway Taehyung when he sets his mind on something, so he just sighs and nods. 

“I’ll take our little Cerberus with me, eh?” Taehyung coos at the dog, scratching behind his ears, and it’s like Ten just notices the puppy because he suddenly gasps and comes over to pet him. 

Jungkook smirks as he sees an absolutely dumbfounded expression on Taeyong’s face, his eyes almost tearing up as he watches his murderous boyfriend play with a puppy. 

“Ten, the overwhelming time pressure,” Jungkook reminds him, and Ten pouts but gives the dog a little smooch before looking at his phone. 

“Alright, let’s go, they’re ready,” he announces before Taehyung quickly pecks Jungkook on the lips, and they leave, leaving him alone with Taeyong. 

He watches them go before turning to Tae, who’s already dialing Jackson, his face still dark. Jungkook gets it. Yoongi isn’t an easy person to distress or upset or hurt, but somehow Jimin managed to do all of that, and maybe more. He frowns, trying to guess what happened. 

They seemed so smitten with each other it would be cringe-worthy if not for the fact that Jungkook is the same around Taehyung. Yoongi called him a couple of hours ago, reporting about their visit to Jiyong, and Jungkook figured Jimin will finally regain some peace of mind after using the potion, but it seems that something has occurred to completely disrupt their dynamic. 

He walks over to the window, watching how the car with Taehyung pulls out of the street and into the city. He hopes Tae will be able to help Jimin with whatever it is. He has to admit — he’s getting attached to the boy extremely quickly, his bright energy and overall unbotherness and dry wit amusing and endearing. He truly hopes Jimin will become one of them one day, and hopefully stand by Yoongi’s side. 

He rubs his temples tiredly and turns to Taeyong, but freezes as he sees the look on his face. He’s staring at his phone unblinking, and Jungkook suddenly gets a painful flashback — the day he first paid attention to a boy playing his guitar on the corner of the street, his face devoid of any happiness or desire to breathe. 

“Yong?” He asks carefully, coming closer and putting his hand on Taeyong’s shoulder. “What did Jackson say?”

Taeyong blinks a few times as if trying to wake himself up and licks his lips. 

“There’s no threat, the cops are as confused about the blackout,” he says hoarsely and absentmindedly. “But Jackson heard something.”

“What is it?” Jungkook asks, getting more worried by the second. 

Tae opens his mouth, but nothing comes out, and even if he had gathered himself to speak, he wouldn’t have the time — the door to his office opens, and Jungkook turns around to look at the newcomers. People are really ignoring etiquette tonight, it seems. 

It’s Ten, his face as cold and emotionless as Kook’s ever seen it, his hand on the gun in his holster. 

“Hades, you have a guest,” he says darkly, and Jungkook immediately tenses at the title. 

Ten steps away to let in the newly arrived, and Jungkook sees Taeyong grit his teeth at the sight of her face. Something clicks in Kook’s mind, and he snaps his head at the woman, his own jaw tensing. 

She comes closer completely unbothered, the sounds of her heels swallowed by the thick carpet, and smiles sweetly at him as she offers her hand. She’s still smaller than him, even in her shoes, and he bows his head slightly in the sign of politeness as he takes her palm in his. The handshake is firm, and he thinks — you’re used to getting what you want without anyone’s help. I get that. 

“Hades,” she drawls, her smile still unwavering. “I believe we have a conversation long overdue.”

She’s ignoring the other two people in the room, and Jungkook makes himself smile slightly, already knowing who she is. Well fuck. 

“You tell me,” he says quietly, tilting his head. “Miss…?”

She chuckles and mirrors his motion, her hair falling on her shoulder. 

“Miss Kang. Kang Seulgi.”

XI

The three of them exchange a look when the lights come back on. Jonghyun takes a deep breath and smiles. Minho grins cheekily as he looks absentmindedly at the papers he was working on before the blackout. Jinki nods to himself, fixing his tie, his face thoughtful.

“Shall we play a hand of poker to celebrate?” Jonghyun offers and smiles when Minho immediately goes for the whiskey.

Jinki shakes his head with his lips pursed but moves to their poker table nevertheless. Jonghyun pours the drinks as Minho deals the cards, and they enjoy a moment of content silence before raising their glasses.

“To the one that has finally passed over into this world,” Jonghyun toasts.

“To the beginning of the end,” Jinki catches up with his own words.

Minho rolls his eyes at them and clinks his glass with theirs.

“You dramatic bastards,” he breathes out with a smirk. “Let us put it simply.”

He swirls the drink in the glass, a dreamy smile on his lips, the one they all mirror. It has been a few decades overdue. Minho looks over them and clicks his tongue.

“To Aphrodite.”

↹

Ares arrives in the throne hall with the sounds of wind and storm, his cape dripping wet on the marble floor. Hades flinches as he watches the water stain the stone. The storm is truly raging up there, and he wonders as to the reason of that. Someone probably hurt another one of Zeus’ lovers. Gods know he has plenty of those.

“Hades,” Ares greets him, bowing his head in respect. “I appreciate you accepting my audience.”

Hades grits his teeth and sighs. It is not like he had any choice.

“I let you into the Underworld as a special… Favor to someone,” he grunts, sighing deeply.

Ares tilts his head, his eyes calculating, and they both know who he’s talking about.

“Would it be possible for me to gain a minute with that someone?” Ares asks carefully.

Hades notices how ashen and tired his face looks. He has been searching for Aphrodite for almost two moons now.

He is just parting his lips to give him a response when he feels that there is no more need. He closes his eyes briefly and sighs as he slumps back in his throne. Not a second later, the doors open, and the beauty of Persephone fills the room, his own internal light illuminating the dim space around them.

Hades watches as Persephone gasps in delight and runs into Ares’ arms, the god of war welcoming him with the same warmth and happiness. Hades grits his teeth and looks at his hands. He’s the King of Hell, and yet he is nowhere near close to getting the same treatment. He clicks his tongue pettily as he observes the reunion of two friends.

“Ah, petal, it is a delight to see you,” Ares murmurs with a smile, and it looks strained, as if he almost forgot how to do it.

Persephone cups his face with his hands and pouts sadly.

“Oh, my dear Ares.” His eyes well up as he studies Ares’ face. “Did you catch even a whiff of rest since… Since it happened?”

Ares shakes his head sadly, and Persephone hugs him again, his face devastated as he worries about his friend. His two friends, Hades reminds himself.

“I will find him,” Ares promises feverishly and looks at Persephone’s face again, his fingers going to his neck and catching on the invisible chain. Hades purses his lips and looks away but still listens intently. “I wish I could free you, petal, but…”

“No.”

Hades looks back at them in surprise as he hears Persephone contradict firmly.

“My path is the one I must walk alone, and it has led me here, so I will see where it leads in the future,” Persephone says firmly, and Hades’ heart skips a beat. Could it be?... “Now, however, we need to think about my dear Aphrodite.”

Ares nods and turns back to Hades with a grim face. Hades cannot look away from where his hands are still holding Persephone’s, but he tries not to take it personally. They are friends, connected through their mutual love for Aphrodite, and that is all there is.

“I have spoken to Hypnos,” Ares says, his jaw tense. “He was able to visit Aphrodite to grant him rest, but could not say where he is held.”

“He is alive, at the very least,” Persephone murmurs, and Ares nods tightly.

“He is in a cell somewhere, devoid of his powers, but he called upon Hypnos on the brink of exhaustion and asked to gift him the oblivion. Hypnos put him to sleep but could not tell where they were. Just a dark cave that could be anywhere in the world.”

“Hypnos gets drawn to minds, not places,” Hades muses. “It is not surprising he did not know the place, especially if your worries are true and Aphrodite is in the mortal world.”

There is a grim silence, interrupted only by a distant rawr of fire, followed by Cerberus’ loud barking.

“I have come here to ask for your help, Hades,” Ares says, and it is evident he is not very happy about it. Gods rarely ask for favors from him, because he asks for too high of a price. In truth, he is just reluctant to leave the Underworld, so he comes up with something rarely any god will agree to do. His business is with mortals, not with his petty family.

“I know that your servants roam the world, knowing how to get inside every corner,” Ares continues, and Hades sighs, already guessing what he is leading up to. “I was wondering if they could be spared to me for a search.”

Hades stands up and comes down the stairs to stand closer to him, his hands behind his back. Ares meets his hard gaze and holds it with dignity.

“Why would I help you, Ares?” He asks quietly, tilting his head.

“Please.”

He swallows as he hears not Ares but Persephone say it, and he turns to the god of spring, his face unreadable. Persephone is looking at him pleadingly, yet there is still grace and pride in his pose, and he knows he will agree before Persephone even bothers to say another word.

“If you do this,” Persephone breathes out, licking his lips. “If you help save my dear Aphrodite, I will stay here forever.”

He freezes, every thought in his mind falling silent as he hears Ares suck in a breath.

“Persephone, darling…”

“No, Ares,” Persephone says firmly, his eyes not leaving Hades’ own. “It is my decision. If this is the sacrifice that will bring Aphrodite back into your arms, I will gladly make it and will never treat it as a grief but a blessing.”

They’re silent for a while, and he searches for a trace of regret in Persephone’s eyes, but there is nothing of the sort. Just strength and pride. Remarkable.

“I do not accept your sacrifice,” Hades says lowly and turns to Ares before Persephone can argue, his lips already parted with the words of contradiction. “But I will help you, Ares.”

Ares’ eyes widen as a smile fights its way on his face, and he takes Hades’ forearm to shake it, his teeth gritted as the light and hope slowly come back to his eyes.

“I will owe everything to you,” he breathes out, but Hades shakes his head.

He is not doing this to put Ares in his debt. No. There is something else in his mind, something born out of the embrace that the most beautiful deity has granted him with. He meets Persephone’s eyes.

“I do not need anything in return, Ares,” he says slowly. “Aphrodite is a god of love, and without him, I am afraid, none of us will be able to truly enjoy the feeling that holding someone we love in our arms brings.”

Persephone looks down on his hands, and Hades looks back at Ares with the smallest of smiles.

“And some of us still have a lot to learn about it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok, first of all, sorry! lmao. im in pain myself but it gets worse before it gets better. and it will get better, I swear  
> second of all. drum roll!!! an amazing person made a fanart for cav, which honestly made me turn into a puddle of glittery goo, uwu. you can check it out [here](https://twitter.com/NicoleM21940235/status/1106254732220424192). thank you so much baby!!! im in awe!  
> third. it occurred to me that cav is almost a year old. (and it has only 11 chapters which is honestly a disgrace but I promise I'm getting better). I always put my twitter here, but I also have a [thread](https://twitter.com/romulusadhara/status/979467152544747520) with cav chapters moodboards, as well as a thread of kpop idols as greek deities. but for some reason, I never post it here, which needs fixing. that's why you saw a link at the beginning of the chapter. and also I sometimes randomly rant and yell about cav on twt, so yeah, [come yell with me](https://twitter.com/romulusadhara)!  
> I'm also [on cc](https://curiouscat.me/romulusadhara) and I love questions about my writing so if you have any — come and get this bread.
> 
> and once again, thank you for reading :)


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